


Pulse Points

by lalakate



Series: Pulse Points [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-17 07:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 70,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13654539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalakate/pseuds/lalakate
Summary: An AU inspired by the movie "Return to Me" in which Regina received Robin's late wife's heart.





	1. Chapter 1

_Dear Family,_

_I am writing to thank you for the gift you gave me and my mom. Two years ago, you gave her a heart, and it saved her life. Her heart was barely working, and she was on oxygen and hooked up to machines. She would be dead now, and I would be an orphan if you didn't do what you did. I know somebody you loved had to die for her to get their heart, but it saved my mom's life. And she's all I have._

_She is healthy now, and I still have a mom thanks to you. So I'm sorry you lost somebody you loved. But you saved my life because you saved my mom. And that heart is still alive and beating strong. One day, maybe I can thank you in person. But for now, I hope you get this letter. I hope it makes you feel better._

 

The letter shook in his hand, his eyes welling up until tears spilled over, wetting his cheeks, dampening his beard. This—even after he had read this letter countless times, even after another year had passed. Two years—had it really been two years since he had lost her—his wife? His heart? Would he ever be able to think about that night without feeling sick? Yes, it had been Marian's heart that had been cut from her chest and given to another, a woman he had been told, a mother, the letter had informed him. But his heart had ceased to function properly the moment his wife's had stopped beating, and he sighed into the stillness, wondering if it would ever fully recover.

"It still hurts, Marian," he murmured, shaking his head yet again at his habit of talking to her when the pain became acute. "God, I wish you were here."

He turned to stare into the doorway, making certain Roland wasn't listening. The boy had caught him once, and since that moment he had taken to speaking with his mother sometimes, assuring his father that yes—she could hear them, and yes—she still cared. He could never reprimand his son for such notions, and there were moments he thought he felt her, a lightness, a glimmer of something that felt like his wife. But he usually felt alone, fractured and dark.

And it hurt like hell.

He refolded the note as he had many times before, wondering when and if he would ever share it with Roland, wondering how long it would be before he could read it without missing her so badly that his lungs would ache. He swallowed down the bitterness in his mouth, his palms clammy and shaken, and he replaced the letter into the drawer of his nightstand, shutting it slowly, somehow smelling the scent of her hair. _I'll meet you at home_ she had stated cheerfully just before ending their call.

It was the last time he had heard her voice.

He shook himself mentally, rubbing his hand across his scalp, inhaling sharply as he stared around his bedroom. God, it was a mess. But his life was a mess, at least the parts that people couldn't readily see. Had he done the right thing in donating her organs? He knew it was what she had wanted, and the note from the child, a child whose mother still lived, it affirmed his decision, it made him happy that this child had not lost both parents.

"Be well," he voiced aloud, looking at the drawer, thinking of the woman who now carried Marian's heart in her body. There was some comfort in knowing that it continued to pump life and nurture a child, even if his own would never know how much that heart had loved him. At least it was cherishing another little boy, or a little girl perhaps, and he knew how well suited her heart was for that task. So his heart would have to love Roland enough for both of them. God, he suddenly felt so horribly inadequate and small.

"Dad! Are you coming?"

He looked over his shoulder, smiling at the one thing in his life that brought him joy. His son—his Roland—the only true remnant of a beautiful life cut short far too soon.

"Just a minute," he called back, rubbing his face to pull himself from this stupor.

"We're gonna be late," his son yelled, and he glanced at the clock, knowing the boy was right. "Uncle Frank…"

"Uncle Frank will have to wait," Robin interrupted, taking a final look around his bedroom, knowing he would have to deal with the pile of dirty clothes piling up in the corner within the next two days. "He can manage until we get there."

"But Nonno is making the cake tonight!" Roland now stood in his doorway, looking up at him with eyes that reminded him too much of his mother.

"And your grandfather knows how much you love his Italian Cream Cake," Robin returned. "He'll save you piece. I promise."

"But he lets me help ice it sometimes," Roland pouted. "And Uncle August is supposed to bring me a present all the way from Australia."

"Austria," Robin corrected. "Not Australia. Those are two different places, remember."

"Whatever," Roland sighed, earning himself a look from his father. "Can we go now, Daddy? Please?" He laughed as his son's lower lip stuck out further than lips were designed to do, and he moved forward, ruffling his dark curls affectionately. God, he loved his boy.

"Come on," he grinned, extending his hand, bracing himself for whatever lay ahead tonight. "Let's get to work, shall we?"

* * *

 

She stared at herself in the mirror, tracing the scar, the scar that would never go away, the one that had saved her life. Two years. Had it really been two years since her surgery? Since she received the heart of another person who had not been as lucky as she had? Since she had written a good-bye letter to her son, had tried to count the number of freckles that dotted his face, had attempted to reach out to a mother with whom she hadn't spoken in years? It had been. And she still wasn't sure how to feel about it.

Why had she of all people been spared? She wasn't exactly a nice person. Edgy—yes. Forthright—most assuredly. Unafraid of speaking her mind when something needed to be righted—without a doubt. But she had lost a part of herself on that operating table when her heart had been removed and replaced by another. She had lost her confidence. And something else she couldn't quite put her finger on, try as she might. Something that made her now feel like less of a woman.

"Stop whining," she reprimanded herself, trying to shake off a sense of drudgery that engulfed her like an oversized cloak. Her fingers reached up, tracing the swell of her breasts, the tips of her nipples through soft fabric before moving the scar that lay between them. The scar that shouldn't define her. But it did.

Shit.

She grabbed her favorite scarf, the cobalt one, relishing how the soft fabric felt against her skin and effectively covered what still made her feel self-conscious. It shouldn't—she knew that, but logic didn't come into play when it came to her scar. Just talking about her surgery made her uncomfortable, like admitting she had a transplant opened her up to probing questions and public scrutiny. Yes-she was grateful but far from ready to discuss the miracle she had been given.

Her private life should remain just that—private. Shouldn't it? As if she had a private life these days that didn't include packing lunches and anything related to Marvel or Pokemon.

Why did she feel this way—God, she should be dead by all rights. She should be thrilled just to be breathing. But she wasn't. She was alive. She'd been given a second chance. But she was living in the shadows, afraid of stepping into the light.

"What are you looking at?" she questioned, daring her image to talk back to her. But it didn't. It simply stared back with a look she couldn't stomach. Shit—even her own reflection was judging her these days.

"Mom," her son cried out from downstairs. "David and Mary-Margaret are here. Are you ready?"

"Just a minute," she answered, tucking the scarf securely into her neckline, liking the contrast of deep blue with her pale gray sweater. She put in earrings, simple sterling studs, and re-examined her appearance one last time, rubbing her lips together, wondering why she felt so on edge tonight. They were celebrating, after all. Celebrating her life. She forced a smile on to her face.

"You look great, Mom," Henry stated, catching her by surprise in her doorway. "Now come on. We don't want to be late for our reservations."

"Reservations?" she questioned, straightening his collar. "Where are we going?"

"Some place David heard about," Henry answered as they walked down the stairs. "An Irish-Italian restaurant."

"Irish-Italian?" she echoed, shaking her head. "That's a new one on me."

"Well, it is Boston," Henry returned, and she ruffled his hair, saddened by the fact that he was now nearly as tall as she was.

"That it is," she sighed, bracing herself for a night she wished she could fast-forward to its conclusion.


	2. Chapter 2

"This is great, isn't it, Regina?"

She looked back at Mary-Margaret, quirking her brow in disbelief.

"We haven't even been seated yet," Regina stated. "I reserve the right to pronounce judgment until I've tasted something."

"Killian said it was fantastic" David interjected, rubbing his palms in anticipation as he glanced around the restaurant.

"A ringing endorsement if ever I heard one," Regina bit back, not even attempting to hide the sarcasm in her voice. "I'm surprised the waitresses aren't in tube tops and stilettos if it's his kind of place."

"Just give it a chance," Mary-Margaret intervened, rubbing her rounded stomach. "It smells amazing."

"Everything smells amazing to you these days," Regina muttered, earning herself an eye-roll from the other woman.

"Mom," Henry interjected. "Look! They have Italian Cream Cake."

A waitress walked by carrying a tray loaded with three generous slices, and she held her son's shoulders to keep him from following the woman around the restaurant.

"That's promising," she admitted with measured reluctance. "But I'm certain it can't come up to my recipe."

"Is that a challenge?"

A man's voice startled her, and she turned on her heels a bit too quickly, finding herself almost nose to nose with a sandy beard, blue eyes and a devilish grin that looked good enough to eat.

"Because my son will tell you that his Nonno's Italian Cream Cake is the best anywhere," the man continued, wearing a slight smirk that made her nerves hum. "And he has excellent taste, I might add." His eyes challenged her gently, and she drew herself up as tall as she could, tossing her hair over her shoulder for good measure.

"Interesting," Regina shot back. "Because my son will tell you that mine cannot be beaten. Isn't that right, Henry?"

"Uh, right, Mom," Henry repeated, watching the man with interest. "But I'm willing to try Nonno's version—just to make sure."

"Henry!" she exclaimed, eliciting a chuckle from her opponent.

"Sorry, Mom," he shrugged. "It's only fair."

"He's right," the man countered, flashing dimples that did things to her, things they shouldn't be doing, things she'd nearly forgotten. "It's only fair, after all."

The gauntlet was down, the die now cast, and she'd be damned if she were going to let this interloping Irishman who looked like he'd stepped out of an Eddie Bauer catalog best her skills at Italian Cream.

"How is it fair for Henry to sample your version if your son hasn't sampled mine?"

He eyed her openly, a glint of admiration in his gaze, and she tried to calm her racing pulse, drawn to this man like a moth to the proverbial flame.

"If you offer Roland cake, I'm fairly certain he won't decline," he responded, leaning in slightly, watching her as if he was trying to figure out what made her tick. "Neither would I, for that matter."

Shit. He smelled amazing. And had good teeth. She upped the ante on the spot.

"Wait—are you asking me to bake you a cake?" she questioned with a laugh, flashing her eyes at him, watching him take the bait like an overconfident bass.

"I believe you volunteered," he replied with a shrug. "And look—your table is ready."

Her eyes fixated on his, their depths too attractive, too alluring, and too many other dangerous adjectives that had no business being in her vocabulary or pulsing towards her thighs.

"Wait," Mary-Margaret cut in, pointing to a group nearby. "I think those other people were here before we were."

"Doesn't matter," the man stated flatly. "You have a reservation, don't you?"

Mary-Margaret nodded rapidly, casting a glance in Regina's direction.

"Well, it just so happens that I'm the owner, and I have just the table for you," the man continued with a shrug. He tossed her something between a smirk and a grin, making her feel as if she had just been caught cheating in class for staring at that blasted mouth of his. "Follow me."

Her heart did an odd somersault as he turned to lead the way.

"The owner," Mary-Margaret whispered as they walked behind him. "Well, well."

"Well what?" Regina demanded, keeping her voice low.

"He's pretty cute, huh?" her friend answered, an irritating grin spreading across her face.

"He's annoying," Regina corrected. "And far too sure of his family's culinary skills."

"And here I thought I was being humble and charming," the man cut in, giving her that blasted smirk again, making her want to turn the other direction and drive straight home.

"If this is your idea of charming, you must have been taking lessons from him," Regina retorted, tossing her head in David's direction.

"And you still want me to buy her dinner?" David asked, shushed by his wife instantly as she practically shoved him into the booth.

"I'll buy my own dinner, thank you," Regina inserted before taking her seat beside Henry. "Not that I would expect anything less."

"But it's your birthday," her son insisted. "Nobody should ever have to buy their own dinner on their birthday."

"Henry, it's not exactly…"

"Birthday?" the man cut in, rocking back on his heels. "Well, then, it's settled. Your dinner is on the house, my lady."

She paused, taken completely aback by this stranger whose dimples were too damned distracting for her own good.

"That's not necessary," Regina answered. "Really."

"But I say it is," he tossed back. "And after all, I am the owner."

"Yes," she returned succinctly. "You've mentioned that a time or two."

He actually looked somewhat embarrassed then, and she shook her head, fighting back a grin with all she was worth, knowing it was a losing battle.

"So," the man continued after clearing his throat, his neck flushing an attractive shade of pink. "Since I am treating you to dinner, will you trust me to bring out an array of some of our finest dishes for you to try?"

Her heart sped up a bit, her mouth suddenly dry.

"As long as your array includes Eggplant Parmesan," Regina stated, staring at the bottom lip he was now biting as if he were unsure of himself. God, she had to stop looking at his mouth. This challenge of theirs could get her into trouble all too quickly, and heaven only knew that she didn't need any more trouble in her life these days.

"It does now," he grinned. "And it's one of my personal favorites."

It would be, she mused to herself, wondering if she ignored the man completely if he would simply go away.

"I'm Robin, by the way," he added, tossing her an expression there was no way in hell she could ignore. "Robin Locksley."

He extended a hand, and she eyed him warily, unable to keep herself from placing her hand within his, far too affected by the touch of an attractive man on her skin.

"Regina Mills," she stated, horrified to hear the crack in her voice. She cleared her throat, refusing to look David and Mary-Margaret in the eye as she gestured to her right. "And this is my son, Henry."

"Nice to meet you, Henry," Robin returned, shaking the boy's hand. "I'll make certain Roland brings you the best piece of cake from the kitchen after your dinner."

"Excellent," Henry expounded, earning himself an exasperated look from his mother. "And you wouldn't have some lasagna back there, would you?"

"Nonno's specialty," Robin smiled, his hip swaying slightly in her direction making her all too aware of his groin and the growing ache in her breasts. "And Roland's personal favorite. Any other requests?"

They all shook their heads, and he bowed slightly, casting Regina one last glance before making his way off towards the kitchen.

"He likes you, Regina," Mary-Margaret whispered excitedly, wiggling her eyebrows in a manner that made Regina roll her eyes.

"That's his problem," Regina retorted, wishing the odd fluttering just under her ribs would dissipate before their salads arrived. But she kept looking for him, wondering where he'd gone, spotting him greeting other guests, hugging people who appeared to be friends, and she couldn't help but smile as a boy with black curls came bobbing up alongside of him. That had to be the infamous Roland, his cake-loving son. And of course, the little boy was adorable. He would be.

Damn it. She didn't need this kind of distraction in her life.

Piping hot breadsticks were brought to their table, and they all dove in, the scent of fresh bread far too tempting to resist. The first bite was heavenly, the second even better than that, and she allowed the garlic butter to coat her tongue and flow over her taste buds, savoring the flavor as her stomach growled out loud. Of course their salads were delivered at that very moment by Robin himself, and he gave her a frank look of appraisal as he set her plate down in front of her.

"Hungry?" he whispered, and she narrowed her eyes at him dangerously.

"Nosy?" she breathed back, and he chuckled deep in his chest, the sound sparking a thrill up her inner thighs that made her shift in her seat.

"Does my lady approve so far?" he questioned, his brow flicking upwards as she took another bite of her bread.

She nodded with some reluctance, convinced he had asked her while she was chewing on purpose. She reached for her water, taking a sip before giving her reply.

"It's excellent," she admitted, wiping a stray bit of butter from her lip, catching him grinning at her like the cat who had just swallowed the cream. "Which is more than I can say for the service."

He laughed softly at her, pressing his lips together as his ears blossomed into a bright shade of magenta.

"Shall I bring you some wine?"

"That would be great," David piped in, catching Robin's attention. "And Regina likes a good malbec, just so you know."

Robin tossed him a nod of thanks before turning and making his way back down a small corridor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Regina snapped, leaning across the table. "Dropping bread crumbs along a path to lead him from the kitchen to my doorstep?"

"You could use a nice man on your doorstep, Regina," David retaliated, taking a drink of his water. "Mary Margaret and I have thought so for a long time. And who knows? Having a man in your life might give you a more cheerful disposition."

"Your wife's disposition is cheerful enough for the entire city of Boston," Regina stated flatly, feeling far too defensive but unable to do anything about it.

"David's right, Mom," Henry chimed in, and she turned on him in shock, her eyes nearly bulging from their sockets.

"Henry?" she gasped, and he shrugged as if his comment were of no more importance that a discussion of the weather.

She sighed heavily then, leaning back into her seat, not about to give in to the tingling sensation crawling up her legs or the urge to grab up her purse and walk out the front door, making certain this Robin saw every second of her dramatic exit, of course. Damn it, he wore his grayish-blue button down shirt well—too well. It emphasized his biceps, his trim waistline, and especially those eyes of his—those eyes that did things to her she'd rather not entertain at the moment.

"So it's a conspiracy," Regina retorted with a shake of her head. "I should have known no good comes from letting my son spend so much time with his not-so-charming god-parents."

"You haven't let yourself be a woman for years now, Regina," Mary-Margaret observed. "And you know it. You've been a mom, a doctor, a patient, and one hell of a fighter. But it's time you let your guard down a little bit and opened yourself up to the possibility of happiness."

"And who appointed you the Happiness Fairy?" Regina shot back, trying to keep her friend's words from hitting too hard.

"Henry," Mary-Margaret grinned, and Regina shot a glance at her son who just shrugged innocently.

"Face it, Mom," the boy stated flatly. "You need a man."

"Henry!" she exclaimed, her cheeks heating far too quickly for her comfort.

"And he thinks you're hot," her son added with a mischievous grin, nodding in Robin's direction. "I've been paying attention. You are definitely on his radar."

Her mouth hung open, speech deserting her, and she looked to David and Mary Margaret for some modicum of support, only to see them nodding in agreement with her son.

"This is mutiny," she stated, taking another drink of her water. "If I'd known I was going to be ambushed tonight, I would have stayed home."

"Staying home is the last thing you need to do," Mary-Margaret rebutted. "And you know it. It's time you allowed yourself to live again, Regina. Past time, actually, for your own sake and for Henry's."

Her heart squeezed at her words, and she laid her hand on top of her chest, on top of her scarf, over her scar, over the beating heart that kept her alive.

"Are you alright, Regina?"

It was Robin's voice she heard, and she was struck by the look of actual concern in his eyes. Damn it. This was not good.

"Yes," she managed, trying to collect thoughts spinning madly out of control. "I just…"

"There you are, Daddy," a small voice chirped, and she looked around to see the curly-headed Roland beaming at all of them with his father's fifty watt dimples.

"Who makes the cake?" the boy asked, answered by one of his father's fingers pointed in Regina's direction. She took another drink of her water, trying to clear her thoughts before smiling back at the child.

"When are you going to make it for us?" the boy asked, those big brown eyes searching hers eagerly. "When can we come to your house?"

Mary-Margaret grinned at her like the Cheshire Cat, wiggling her brows, making Regina nearly choke on her water. Then Robin's hand was on her back, patting until she stopped coughing, handing her the water glass as she gulped it down greedily.

"She'll never invite us over for cake if you choke her over dinner," Robin reprimanded, and Roland hung his head, looking overly guilty for an innocent remark. She stared at the boy, daring a glance back at his father as her heart took up a rhythm new to her.

"You want to come to my house?" she questioned, still a bit breathless, and the little head bobbed up and down, his grin stealing her heart on impact.

"I promise I won't make a mess," Roland stated, and Robin laid a hand on his son's shoulder with a look of blatant disbelief.

"Roland," he stated. "We don't invite ourselves over to someone else's house. It isn't polite, and we've only just met Regina and Henry."

"But she likes us," Roland returned, glancing back at Regina too closely. "Don't you, Gina?"

Her head started to spin, and she breathed in slowly, trying to regain some semblance of control.

"Of course I like you," she answered, knowing there was no way in hell to turn down the sincere puppy-dog eyes of a four year old charmer. "Roland."

She heard Robin snicker, catching her clarification, and she looked up at him, only to be snared by that blasted half-grin, catching a spark in his expression that hit her squarely. Something overwhelmed her then, something warm and inviting that flowed through her veins like molasses over hot cakes. It was odd, all-encompassing, and the most delicious sensation she had experienced in years.

What the hell?

"Could I get some more water?" Mary Margaret questioned, snapping her out of her stupor as she sought her mutinous reason.

"Of course," he smiled, breathing in audibly. "I'll be right back with a pitcher and your dinner."

She watched him walk away, wanting to call him back, to follow him, to press her face into his neck and smell his skin before kissing him to see how good he tasted. God, where was all of this coming from? Her nipples pebbled beneath her sweater and scarf, and she sat up straighter, determined to shake off this school-girl like crush over a man with a nice ass and dimples as distracting as his accent.

"You're staring, Regina," Mary Margaret hummed, enjoying herself far too much as she and David looked knowingly at each other.

"I'm just glad he left," Regina shot back, trying her best to make her lie sound as convincing as possible. "Now be quiet and eat your salads before I ask for a private table."

She was watching him walk away, he could sense it, could feel red-hot prickles run up and down his spine, and he bit his lower lip, wondering just what in God's name had happened to him tonight.

It was the two-year anniversary of Marian's death, and here he was making a fool of himself over a woman who just happened to walk into his restaurant, a woman with eyes he couldn't forget, a woman with a small scar on her upper lip and a mouth he found himself aching to kiss.

What sort of man was he that he would act like this on the night he should be mourning his wife?

"She's pretty, Daddy," Roland commented, and he sighed audibly as Frank stopped in his tracks.

"The brunette, I take it," Frank added, looking back at his brother-in-law with interest. "The looker with the kid."

"I'm sorry," Robin apologized, his shoulders sagging as he fought back warring urges to run out screaming into the night air or to go back and kiss the hell out of that woman. "I know it's…"

Frank silenced him with a hand on his shoulder.

"It's been two years," the man began, looking at his brother-in-law directly. "And God knows I miss my sister—we all do. But we both knew Marian, Robin. The last thing she'd want is for you to mope around this restaurant and forget that you've still got a life to live out there. She'd want you to move on. She'd want you to meet somebody else and fall in love again. It's time."

His throat constricted, his lungs feeling both heavy and light, and he looked back over his shoulder, wondering if Regina was giving him a second thought, or if she had written him off completely while he stood here agonizing over her like a witless fool.

Damn it. He didn't need this right now.

"She's interested," Frank continued. "In case you're wondering. And she's a knock-out. Go for it, man. See what happens."

"I don't think she is interested," Robin argued, making his brother-in-law snort. "I mean it, Frank. She's only being kind to me for Roland's sake. She practically said so."

"Hold on, then," Frank stated, making Robin's heart sink as he turned to make a bee-line for Regina's table. "I'll go and ask her."

"No!" he cried out, grabbing Frank's arm. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

"Giving you a push," Frank retaliated. "Listen, if you don't ask her out, I'll ask her for you. There's no use in standing here making up excuses when you're dying to get to know that woman. So make up your mind, Romeo. But I'm only giving you through dessert. After that, Roland and I will take matters into our own hands. Right, Buddy?"

Roland nodded, a look of serious determination overtaking the boy's face.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have some cannolis to deliver to Table twelve," Frank stated, sliding by Robin, leaving him frozen in place. He gazed after his brother-in-law in astonishment, palms sweaty, heart pounding, jittery nerves making him feel like a teenager trying to summon up the nerve to ask his crush to a dance. Why should he be so nervous? Regina was an attractive woman, and he was a man—and a single man at that.

A single man. Shit.

The realization struck him hard, reverberating through every nerve and tendon, nearly buckling his knees in the process. He was single. He was lonely. And he had every right to get to know a woman who interested him, a woman who actually made him sit up and take notice, a woman who helped remind him that underneath layers of grief and desperation, he was still a man. He needed to take a chance on living again for himself and for Roland.

If only the thought of talking to her again didn't scare him out of his bloody mind.

"You heard him, Papa," Roland stated, catching his father's full attention. "You need to ask Gina out."

The voice of his son rattled his rib cage, making him want to laugh and roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of his situation.

"I do?" Robin questioned, kneeling down until he was eye to eye with his boy. "And why do you think that, Roland?"

"'Cause you're depressed," the boy sighed with a shrug. "Uncle Frank and Uncle August said so."

He fought back the cold talons that swept him under all too frequently, making his lungs ache as he fought to stay afloat in this world he was trying to navigate without his wife.

"I'm not depressed," Robin argued, feeling like a terrible liar as he stared into Roland's dark eyes.

"Uncle Frank also says you need to get laid," the boy added, scrunching his nose in confusion. "Whatever that means."

Robin's nearly choked, and he shot another glance over his shoulder, ready to take Frank's head off when he passed by again.

"And you want to kiss Gina," Roland stated with a certainty possessed only by young children. "I can tell."

His breath flew out of his chest, his cheeks warming at least fifteen degrees.

"How in God's name do you figure that?" Robin asked his son, unable to stifle another cough as he gazed at his preschooler now giving him dating advice.

"You keep staring at her mouth," Roland answered, looking at his father as if he had just asked the most obvious question in the world. "That's the way it always happens in the movies. And she's been looking at yours, too. You should go and kiss her, Daddy. I think she'd like it."

"I think she'd slap me," Robin corrected, a laugh escaping through his nose. "And you don't just go up to a woman you have just met and kiss her, Roland. That's not how it works."

"Then go make it work," the boy reasoned with a grin. "You can do it, Daddy." His son's confidence both bolstered and shook his own, but he smiled, his mind feeling like it was stuck in a blender on high speed. "I'm gonna go help Nonno with the frosting. See ya."

He then skipped off merrily, leaving his father slack-jawed and dumb-founded, and Robin stood upright, feeling his back in places he'd rather not, reminding him that he was not as young as he used to be. Shit. This is not how he had envisioned this evening, and he breathed in evenly, wondering what to do, wondering how in God's name he was supposed to look this Regina in the eye without completely giving himself away. His mouth felt like paste, his stomach like a pretzel being wound into shape, and he turned unsteadily on his heels, nearly running into the very woman in question who seemed as surprised by their near collision as he did.

"I'm sorry," Regina breathed with a nervous smile. "I-I was just looking for the ladies' room."

She was close enough that he could smell her perfume, and it did things to him, things like making him lose the ability to reason and form sentences.

"Oh," he fumbled, rubbing nervous fingers through his hair. "It's in the other direction, actually."

She stood silently, unmoving, her fingers fumbling nervously with each other.

"I see," she managed, biting her lower lip and staring at her shoes. "Then I'll just…"

"My son thinks I should ask you out."

The words flew from him before he could call them back, and she stared at him slack-jawed, her dark eyes wide and uncertain. Idiot, he thought to himself feeling his ears overheat and his tongue turn somewhat numb.

"Well," she began, her facial muscles working overtime. "That's very kind of him."

"No, it isn't," Robin muttered, backpedalling as soon as the words left his mouth. "I mean, he is a nice boy, and you seem like a nice woman. But that's not why…"

He paused, drawing in a deep breath, grimacing badly.

"I'm botching this completely, aren't I?"

Her face melted in front of him, a radiant yet shy smile striking him hard right where he felt it, and he wanted to kiss her then, more so than he had before, the need to do so making his fingers restless and his lips twitch.

"Yes," she answered, her tone dropping an interval or two. "But it's alright."

He grinned back, daring to take her hand, wondering just what in God's name he was doing and if she'd kick him in the balls for touching her like this.

She didn't.

"I haven't asked anybody out in a long time," he continued, pulling her as close to the wall as he could, trying to claim a fragment of privacy in as odd a situation as he had ever found himself. He scratched the back of his neck, wondering why it felt like a pack of angry fire ants had been unleased along his spinal column.

"I can tell," she returned, and he laughed, exasperated with himself, completely enchanted by her. "But I haven't been asked out in a long time, either."

"You're kidding," Robin rebutted, shaking his head in amazement. She smiled at him again, and his stomach did an odd sort of lurch that made him lean into her a bit closer. God, he pay a king's ransom to see that smile on a regular basis, and his fingers caressed her hands of their own accord.

"No," she began, jumping at a vibration on her hip, smashing the top of her head into his nose. He saw stars for a moment, his eyes blurring as he reeled backwards on impact.

"God, I'm sorry," she began, grabbing the pager with one hand, trying to examine his nose with other. "Are you bleeding?"

"I don't think so," he answered, blinking back the tears that stung his eyes. He sniffed, blinked again, trying to right himself, her face finally coming back into focus through a murky haze.

She was biting her lower lip, looking terribly repentant, and she reached for his face, prodding his nose gently with both of her index fingers on either side of his nostrils.

"I've got to go," she stated, trying ascertain the damage. He pulled back with a small grunt, not ready to have her poke around the bridge of his nose just yet, taken unawares by the small smile that greeted his child-like reaction.

"Hold still," she instructed. "I know what I'm doing."

"If you mean going for the kill, let me assure you that I believe you," he gushed, and he heard her chuckle and hiss through her teeth as he winced at her sure and strong touch.

"I'm not going to charge you for the meal, if that's what you're afraid of," he murmured, rubbing his proboscis as she let go, hoping it wasn't swelling up to the size of a small balloon. He heard her make an appreciative noise, and he managed to focus on her again, hoping he didn't look like the biggest idiot that had ever walked the earth.

"It's not broken," she stated, and he opened his eyes fully, his nose still feeling as if he'd been elbowed by Roland. "But I'm still sorry."

"That you didn't break it?" he managed, making her laugh.

"I'll try harder next time," she returned smoothly. That did it. He lost a piece of himself to her right then, a piece he knew he would never get back.

"A patient," she continued, holding up her pager, her examination of his nose now making perfect sense. "I'm a pediatrician, and one of my children just underwent a risky heart surgery."

That caught his attention.

Her hand had moved to her chest, just above where her own heart was beating beneath layers of cotton and wool. A strong current of pain and attraction wound its way through his nervous system, up his spine and out his body to fix itself around her—this stranger—this woman who had caught him completely unawares in more ways than one standing here in the corridor of his restaurant.

"I need to be there, to talk to his parents and to check on his prognosis," she continued, and he noticed the trembling of her lower lip, her heart now clearly on display for him in a manner he doubted she let many people see. She reached up to prod his nose once again, and he leaned back instinctively, bringing back that smile he knew without a doubt he would dream about tonight.

"Then go," he whispered, drawing those luminescent eyes of hers back in his direction. She stared at him in a manner so unguarded he forgot to breathe, feeling himself spiral down an abyss he was fairly certain had not bottom. "But come back when you've finished. I'll save you some eggplant parmesan and a slice of cake. On the house, of course."

An expression he couldn't quite make out flickered across her features, and he felt warm and cold all over, wondering what she would say, wondering if she would come back, wondering if he'd ever see her again.

"I'll try," she finally responded, nipping her bottom lip and giving his hand a squeeze. She then let go of him and slid away inch by inch, slowly turning on her heels and making her way back to her table and out the front door, taking more with her as she left than she could possibly realize.


	3. Chapter 3

What the hell was she doing here?

Regina gazed up at the restaurant marquis, illuminated by well-placed street lights, L & M's Pub & Trattoria staring back at her in a teasing fashion, just daring her to step forward and walk back inside. But her legs were immobile, and she just stood there, continuing to shiver in the night air as she hugged her pea coat tighter around her body. Why in God's name had she come back if she was just going to linger here in the cold like a teenager mooning over her first crush?

She knew damn well why, and the answer was fair-headed, blue-eyed, tight-assed, and more than likely waiting for her on the other side of those doors.

He was in there—the blasted owner whose dimples caught her attention and who's bumbling attempt at asking her out made her heart flutter precariously. Come back when you've finished, he'd told her, even after she'd banged his nose up pretty badly. Poor man—she winced as she remembered just how sharp the contact between her head and his nose had been, how his eyes had teared up in spite of himself, how he was likely to have a nasty bruise for at least a week thanks to her.

Yet here she was, too afraid to make a move, too insecure to step through the door and face him again, because….well, just because...

Because he did things to her—things that felt great and terrifying at the same time.

This was ridiculous—she was a grown woman, a doctor, and she inhaled deeply, the act of filling her lungs somehow bolstering her courage just enough to propel her forward. She could do this—she could approach this man.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered to herself, reaching out a gloved hand to grab the handle, only to find it locked. Closed the sign in the window declared, and her chest deflated instantaneously. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all—a sign, perhaps, that she should get the hell out of Dodge while the getting was good. Then the door cracked open, and a spikey-haired, doe-eyed man looked her over before shrugging in her general direction.

"Sorry, love," he stated, his thick British accent taking her a bit off guard. "We're closed for the night."

"I—I see that," she stammered, pasting on a bright smile as she took a step backwards, mortification nearly buckling her knees on the spot. "I'll just be going. Sorry to have bothered you."

She turned on her heels, her face burning, her heart sinking down to her stomach, feeling like one big idiot on three inch heels.

"Wait. You wouldn't happen to be Regina, would you?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, every nerve on high alert.

"And if I am?" she questioned, her heart beginning to thud uncomfortably as she turned back in his direction.

"If you are and I accidentally sent you away, my boss would have my head on a platter come morning."

He held the door open for her, and she stared at him, at the entrance, at this juncture in her life beckoning her forward as her mind scurried off in one hundred different directions.

"Listen, love," he cut in. "Its cold out here. Are you coming in, or aren't you?"

"I'm coming," she heard herself answer, rather amazed at how steady her voice sounded, wishing her legs felt as sturdy. Then the warmth of the room wrapped her up like a blanket, and she took it all in, the lingering smell of food prompting her stomach to protest out loud.

"Don't worry," the man chimed in, slinging a dish towel over his shoulder. "I'm pretty sure he's saved you some food. But if not, let me know. I've got a stash of Snickers in my backpack."

She pressed her lips together, noting the tasteful embroidery on his shirt that identified him as Will.

"Thanks, but I think I'll hold out for the eggplant," she mused, eliciting a shrug from the man.

"Your loss," Will quipped as he began walking back into the heart of the restaurant. "If you follow me, I'll take you to him."

To him. Damn it. Why did those two words make her thighs tingle and her nipples stand at attention? This was ridiculous, and she was certain she should just turn the opposite direction and high tail it out of this pub-trattoria of temptation before the situation got any more out of control.

But she didn't.

"Lead the way," she heard herself instruct the younger man, wondering just who it was that had invaded her body as she tried to swallow down what felt like paste in her throat. Shit, what was she actually going to say to Robin when she saw him? She barely knew the man, after all, had only bantered with him earlier this evening and admired his assets from afar. Well, they hadn't actually been that afar from each other right before she had to leave, she admitted to herself with a measure of reluctance. They'd been close enough for her to whap his nose pretty effectively, but still, that was beside the point. This was ludicrous, unreasonable, impulsive and so very, very unlike her. She nearly talked herself into turning around and bolting out the front door just as Will directed her back through the area in which they'd sat earlier in the evening, and she dared a look at their table, a small grin creeping across her face in spite of herself.

Roland's black eyes danced in her memory, as did the clean, pine-like scent of his father, the mere thought of him tickling her rear in anticipation as she tried to rein in her body's reaction.

"Wait here," Will stated as they came to the narrow hallway in which she and Robin had collided. "I'll let him know you're here."

She opened her mouth to say something—anything, but nothing came out. So she just stood there like a Greek column—waiting, nervous, alone. Until her feet became restless, that is, and thoughtlessly guided her towards the table. She stroked its weathered but smooth surface, knowing Mary Margaret would be grinning at her like an idiot if she knew just where she was at this moment. Shit, she'd tell Regina to follow her heart, even if it took her straight to this man's bed before they'd even had a first date. Which, if she were being completely honest with herself, didn't sound like all that bad a prospect.

Wait—was this their first date? Or simply a trial meeting to see if what had happened between them earlier had been nothing more than a sex-starved fluke? Her pulse sped up as footfalls sounded behind her, her chest caving in as she sensed him drawing closer, ever closer, her skin tingling at his perceived nearness.

"You came."

There it was, that Irish lilt edged with lager, and she turned around slowly to face him, her breath hitching uncomfortably as she did.

Not a fluke. At least, not on her part.

"I came," she echoed, biting her lower lip nervously.

"I'm so glad that you did," he murmured, and her heart did something then, something that propelled her forward two steps, making him grin down at her in the process. Shit—why did temptation have to look so good in a nice-fitting pair of Levis and a forest green Henley?

"Your nose looks better than I expected it to," she stated, reaching forward to touch it, halting just shy of his face.

"Go ahead," he stated. "You are a doctor, after all."

"Glad you remembered," she hummed, touching his face delicately, careful to stop whenever he winced.

"How could I forget?" he returned, one side of his mouth dragging upwards in a lazy fashion. "It's not every woman who leaves her mark so vividly."

She chuckled, she couldn't help it, and he joined her, the sound deep and luxurious as it rippled out from his chest.

"I believe in making an impression," she hummed, emboldened by the mischievous glimmer in his eye.

"You succeeded," he confessed, moving one step closer himself. "My plastic surgeon will attest to that fact."

God, she actually laughed then, and her ribs felt buoyant as earlier misgivings faded away like yesterday's lipstick.

"I hope you're insured," she cautioned as his hand reached out for hers, tentative yet welcoming, the contact sending pinpricks of excitement everywhere at once. "Look what happened at our first meeting."

"I've taken a few precautions for tonight," he shrugged, moving to her side as he enveloped her hand fully, going no further until she made it clear she wouldn't pull away. He looked at her then, his head cocking to one side in a mannerism she found strangely endearing. "Helmet, shoulder pads, there's even a full body cast ready and waiting in the closet, and my old crutches are on stand-by."

"Oh," she mused, feeling a bit mischievous herself as she flashed her eyebrows in his direction. "I wasn't sure just what sort of precautions you were talking about, but those should prove to be more than sufficient no matter what we get into."

He coughed suddenly, nearly choking on thin air, and she was unsure if his face was red from embarrassment, coughing, or simple out and out amusement.

"First my nose, and now you've nearly choked me to death," he managed, his voice ragged between fits of coughing and laughter. "We won't ever need any precautions if you keep this up."

She had to stop in place, her laughter nearly making her stomach hurt, the expression on his face egging it on.

"If it's up already, we could be in trouble," she quipped, making him actually wheeze as he fell back against the wall.

"Should I send out an S.O.S. now or later?" he questioned, clearing his throat loudly as his breathing finally began to steady.

"Later," she answered, wiping under her eyes. "I'm too hungry to bother with that now."

He was grinning back at her with an expression she felt but couldn't define. All she knew was that she liked this man, she really liked this man, even though she knew so little about him. This could get really dangerous really fast.

"I'm sorry…I shouldn't be so bold when we barely know each other," she stated, her gaze falling to their joined hands, wondering why she just didn't cut her losses and leave. He then gave her a slight tug in his direction, guiding her closer and closer until their bodies were nearly touching, his breath warm and steady just above her ear, and she melted on contact.

"Be as bold as you like," he hummed, reaching up to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "You'll get no complaints from me." They gazed at each other for a moment, and she felt like purring as his fingers brushed over her scalp.

"Even if I border on audacious?" she questioned, her pulse now skipping rope in her neck.

"Especially if you border on audacious," he hummed, the vibration of his voice near her skin making her legs feel like silly putty. He smelled just as she had remembered, only better, and she blinked repeatedly, wanting him to kiss her, half-terrified he just might.

What the hell had gotten into her?

"Hey, Romeo!" a voice cried out from the back. "Don't be getting any ideas before we've even met the lady."

She watched him blush from hairline to neck, and he pursed his lips together, drawing back a bit to look at her fully.

"My brother-in-law Frankie," he explained with a nod in that direction. "He's not exactly known for being subtle."

"I gathered that," she returned as his raised and lowered his brows. "Your sister's husband?"

He paused, eyeing her steadily as he exhaled into the space between them.

"My late wife's brother," he explained, making her feel like she'd like to crawl under a table and hide the rest of the night.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I wouldn't have asked if I'd known.."

"It's alright," he interrupted, giving her hand a slight squeeze. "I was going to tell you about my circumstances tonight anyway. And you already know I have a son."

She nodded, guilt still gnawing at her gut for asking so unceremoniously.

"What happened?" she asked, seeing the remnants of pain in the play of his facial muscles.

"Car accident," he answered, and she pressed no further, knowing how quickly a life full of promise could descend into tragedy with one phone call. "Two years ago." She felt his fingers fidget around her hand, sensing he wanted to move on from this subject at the moment.

"Henry is adopted," she offered, evidently catching him by surprise if his expression was anything to go by. "I wasn't seeing anyone, I wanted to be a mother…"

"So you adopted a child," he expounded, a flicker of approval shining back at her. "As a single mother?" She nodded in affirmation, and he bit his lower lip, a maneuver that was far too attractive for her own good. "That's rather admirable."

"No," she corrected. "There was nothing admirable about it. I wanted a child, and he needed a mother. I was the lucky one in this equation."

He smiled at her then, the same smile she'd seen when she'd spoken of her patient, a smile that warmed her from top to bottom and rolled her insides over a time or two.

"I'd say you were both lucky," he observed. "At least from where I'm standing."

"He changed my life," she admitted as she leaned towards him unconsciously. "For the better."

"Children do that, don't they?" he mused, forging a new and fragile connection between them. "I can't imagine where I'd be without Roland. He was my salvation for a very long time after..." He paused, and she waited for him, sensing some old wounds were still somewhat tender. "After Marian died."

"I can imagine," she whispered. "I'm glad the two of you had each other."

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but his gaze cut through any and all pretense.

"So you've never married?" he asked, and she raised her brows at the direct nature of his question.

"No," she returned. "I was engaged once, but that ended badly."

"His loss," Robin noted, tugging a smile back across her face. "I'm already certain of it."

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she felt her breathing still in her throat, licking her lips in anticipation as his eyes sought hers for permission. Her face felt hot, her palms oddly dry, and her gaze flickered from his mouth to those bluer than blue eyes, full of something she wanted to experience for herself.

"Alright, Lover Boy," Frank interrupted from the other room, ruining the moment as effectively as if he'd paraded through on a buffalo. "If you're not in here in ten seconds, we're sending in the cavalry."

"Shit," Robin uttered, wrinkling his nose. "Shall we get this over with?"

Their noses were nearly touching, her free hand resting on his chest of its own accord.

"Sounds like a plan," she agreed, inhaling as her brow creased in concern. "Should I be nervous?"

"Only if you offend easily," he quipped, making her giggle as beads of sweat broke out on the back of her neck. "I've actually instructed them to be on their best behavior as far as you're concerned. But I'm certain it will be open season on me."

"I didn't know there was such a thing as Robin season," she mused, already loving the way he grinned at her.

"Private permits only," he clarified as he turned her towards their destination. "So you should aim carefully, my lady."

"I thought that was your job," she teased, feeling his grip tighten on her hand as he studied her with a curious smile.

"My aim is ever true," he boasted. He bit his lower lip again as she tossed both brows in his direction. "Well, at least I like to think it is."

"Robin Hood, then," she goaded, and he rubbed his free palm over his face.

"God, the number of times I heard that growing up," he admitted. "I actually enjoyed it until I was about eight."

She let him guide her down the narrow corridor towards the large kitchen, swinging a hard left down three steps that led them into a cozy, square room. It was dominated by a round table covered with stacks of chips and encircled by five men holding cards. Two were older, and three looked to be close to Robin's age, one of them reminding her somewhat of Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies.

"Everyone, this is Regina," Robin began, exhaling audibly as his hand snaked around her back. He was warm, overly warm, and she relaxed a bit at the realization that he was just as nervous as she was. "Regina, may I introduce my father-in-law, Alonzo Menotti, his brother Marco, Marco's son August, my oaf of a brother-in-law, Frank, and my dear friend John."

All the men stood, Alonzo maneuvering himself around the table, reaching out to her and giving her a surprisingly firm hug.

"Regina," he beamed, what white hair he had bouncing over his balding head, his thick goatee quivering with glee. "I am Roland's Nonno, and I'm so happy to meet you. Now tell me, is Robin treating you alright?"

She couldn't help but grin back at the man, his warm brown eyes making her feel more at ease by the second.

"So far," she returned, and he squeezed her shoulders, nodding his head vigorously.

"Good," Alonzo returned, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper more than loud enough for the entire room to hear. "He's like a son to me, and he's a good boy, I promise. But it's been a while since he's been out on a date. We've all been a little concerned about him, you understand. He's a bit out of practice, I'm afraid, maybe a bit rusty at kissing and such."

"I see," Regina hummed with a grin, wondering how many shades of red Robin had turned as he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, he's holding his own at the moment, so you can relax."

"He's been holding his own too long," Frank mused to August under his breath. "That's why he needs a woman."

John then ceremoniously whapped Frank over the head with a rolled-up newspaper as Regina felt Robin's grip on her tighten.

"Apologize to the lady, Frankie," John instructed, drawing himself up to his true height which was considerable. "Or you and I will have words later."

"Calm down, Johnny," Frank returned, brushing the big man off as he stepped forward and focused his attention on Regina. "But I am sorry, Regina. More often than not, I act like an asshole. My sister got all the class in the family, and I got left with the good looks." She smiled in spite of herself as she shook his offered hand. "No offense meant towards you, I promise."

"None taken," she stated, feeling Robin's hold on her ease. "Although I somehow think your sister probably took the lion's share of the good looks, too."

An appreciative Ooooo rippled through the men, and she received at least three nods of approval as Frank tossed her a salute.

"God, Frank offends me all the time," August cut in, putting his hand towards hers, shaking it firmly. "You must be a better person than I am, Regina."

"No question," Frank sputtered, rolling his eyes in August's direction. "And she's a hell of a lot prettier too."

"That's because you haven't seen me in my red dress," August rebutted, tossing Regina a wink as the man's father rolled his eyes.

"When you talk like that, Augusto, it's no wonder you're not married," Marco sighed, making his own way to Regina and kissing her on the cheek. He was a shorter version of his brother, his hair more gray than white, his lively dark eyes instantly reminding her of Roland's.

"Bellisima," Marco smiled, holding both of her shoulders and drawing back. "I approve Robin, and you know how hard it is to get my approval."

"Yes, Marco," Robin returned, scratching the back of his ear. "I know."

"If you're not good to her, I'm asking her out myself," Marco added with a wink. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I stand warned," Robin noted, raising his hands in mock-surrender.

"God, Marco, you're such a flirt," the Hagrid-esque man stated, moving towards Regina like tower with feet. "I'm John," he said as he took her hand gently, nudging Marco out of the way. "And we're all really glad to meet you, Regina. You have no idea."

Robin cleared his throat just behind her, warming her own ears as she smiled.

"I'm happy to meet you, too," Regina breathed, relaxing into John's grip. "But I hope there's no test on names at the moment."

"The test comes after the cake," Frank explained. "Dessert always comes first in this family. It's important you understand priorities around here."

"I've heard your cake is quite something," Regina mused, smiling broadly at Alonzo. "But I have to tell you, I make one mean Italian Cream Cake myself."

"Ooooo," the men hummed together as Alonzo's bushy eyebrows moved over his scalp.

"Are you challenging me, Signorina?" the older man asked, the gleam in his eye unmistakable.

"Perhaps," Regina cooed. "But not at the moment. I need to taste my competition first."

Alonzo beamed back at her, clapping his hands in delight.

"I'll eagerly await your verdict," the man stated with a bow. "And keep in mind—Roland helped me frost the cakes tonight. It's hard to beat the expertise of a boy like him."

"That makes it even more enticing," Regina smiled as Robin slid in close behind her. "Of course, my son Henry has been known to help out with cake preparation at my house. He's rather good at it himself."

"A fair challenge, then," Marco interjected, eliciting comments from the other men in the room. "Shall we wager on who will win this little contest?"

"I don't care who wins," Frank cut in. "As long as there's cake involved."

"I don't know," August added, rubbing his nose. "I'm afraid to bet against Regina. You see what she did to Robin when he said the wrong thing."

An appreciative chorus rose up among the men, and she dared a glance at Robin who was shaking his head.

"Betting against your own family recipes," Alonzo sighed. "Remember who feeds you around here, Augusto."

"Speaking of," Robin cut in, seeing his opportunity and grabbing it. "I asked Regina back here tonight for the express purpose of making certain that she didn't miss her dinner. I believe it's time I made good on that promise."

"You'd better make good on a lot of things," Frank tossed in, ducking just as Robin sent a jab in his direction. "Papa's expecting a report later tonight."

"Then you'll be sorely disappointed," Robin assured him, earning himself a round of groans from the men as they settled back to their cards. "I don't kiss and tell."

"You don't even kiss," August clarified, earning himself a guffaw from John.

"A fact he may well remedy soon," Marco added, wiggling his gray brows in her direction.

"No kissing until after the cake," John interjected, pointing at Robin. "House rules. Remember?"

"Ten bucks says they don't even make it through dinner before he lays one on her," Frank challenged, drawing all the men's attention. She heard Robin's sigh of exasperation, his presence behind her making her thighs clench and pulse speed up.

"I've got fifteen saying she gives him a black eye to match the nose," August added as Regina tossed a wave good-bye over her shoulder, grateful for the fact that Robin was now steering her out of the room and into the kitchen with more haste than necessary.

"God," he breathed when they were out of earshot. "That was worse than I ever imagined. And you're still here."

"I'm starving," she stated, feeling the warm grin he tossed her down to her toes. "After I'm fed, all bets are off."

He smiled, maneuvering himself until their bodies just touched.

"I'm afraid there are more bets on the table than we realize," he noted, and she made an appreciative noise at the thoughts of what the men might be wagering on now that they'd left the room.

"So who's going to win?" she asked, forgetting to breathe as his nose rubbed the side of hers.

"No question," he whispered, tickling her cheek with his words. "I've already won, just because you're here."

Giddiness pooled behind her rib cage, leaving her in no doubt of just how interested in this man she was already.

"You're that easy?" she teased, his mouth so close she could nearly taste him.

"Try me," he returned.

That's all it took.

She bridged the distance between them in a second, touching her lips down on his, absorbing their weight and softness, feeling him respond immediately. Initial surprise morphed into something more exciting and desperate as hot hands slid around her waist, tugging her closer, coaxing her lips open with his mouth and tongue. God, he felt good, and he tasted like spice and mint and something she thought had to be uniquely him. Her limbs melted like butter, and she leaned into him, nipping and sampling, sparks skittering through her veins like pixie dust on crack.

"Hmmm," he hummed into her mouth, drawing her upper lip languidly through his, stoking embers simmering just below her belly. "You're quite a good kisser."

"I know," she managed as they drew back from each other just enough to breathe, enjoying the feel of his laughter against her chest. "But I'm still hungry. Famished, in fact."

Foreheads touched as her fingers fisted into his shirt.

"Thank God," he returned, his thumb tracing an invisible pattern on her cheek. "Because my appetite has just been whetted." His eyes held her captive, his mouth just begging her to kiss him again.

"It's awfully quiet in there," Frankie called out, and she groaned as he sighed, her head dropping on to his shoulder. "Did you kiss her, Rob? Cause if so, I just won twenty bucks!"

"Come on," he grinned, whispering into her ear. "Let's get you some dinner."

He led her around a corner to a small wooden table sitting by a window, carefully set with two placemats, a bottle of malbec and a candle for good measure.

"And here I thought you were going to hand me a carryout box and ask for my number," Regina mused, staring back at him in wonder.

"Well, I am going to ask for your number," Robin confessed as his arm rounded her waist, tempting her to forgo dinner at the moment and feast on him instead. "But you deserve far more than a Styrofoam box and plastic utensils. Especially on a first date."

"So this is a first date?" she asked as her brows raised in time with his.

"It is if you want it to be," he returned. "Which also means you must allow me to take you on a second one." He worked his lower lip over with his teeth, fiddling his brows in her direction. Shit. She liked it too much when he did that—far too much.

"Alright," she agreed just as he moved away from her to pull out her chair. "First date it is. But the second one depends on how this one goes." She sat down and allowed him to adjust her seat for her, holding her wine glass out as he uncorked the bottle and poured.

"That's fair," he mused. "And I must admit that I'm delighted to discover that you do kiss on the first date."

He filled his own glass just before he leaned down and pecked her lips, effectively silencing her before she could protest.

"Only when there's Italian Cream Cake involved," she clarified with a smoky grin. "And don't be getting any ideas about going any further tonight. I do have my standards."

"Too late," he admitted, looking somehow like a cross between a sheep and a ravenous wolf as he moved towards an oven and placed an oven mitt on his hand. "I have more thoughts than should be legal this early on." Her breasts practically squealed at that remark, and she adjusted herself in her seat as she finally slid her coat off her body. She inhaled as he pulled two trays out of the oven, the mingled scents of lasagna and eggplant parmesan reminding Regina just how hungry she actually was. He busied himself with their plates, topping them off with steamed broccoli before delivering them to the table.

"Buon Appetito," he grinned, setting her plate down in front of her as her stomach nearly pounced on to the table. God, it smelled heavenly, and she was tempted to shove a bite in her mouth without pretense as her salivary glands went insane. She eyed him over the rim of her wine glass, licking her lips suggestively as he hung her coat on a nearby rack before sitting down across from her.

"Nice Italian," she mused, reining in her dignity. "But I was hoping you'd say it in Irish."

He eyed her as he laid his napkin across his lap, picking up his own glass of wine.

"Taitneamh a bhaint as do chuid béile," he stated, earning her admiration as he toasted her from his seat. "Anything else you'd like to hear?"

"Bottoms up?" she teased, shivering all over at his husky chuckle.

"Don't tempt me," he returned with a glimmer in his eye. His pupils expanded as her lids lowered seductively, and she picked up her knife and fork, cutting herself a piece of eggplant she slowly slid into her mouth.

"Álainn," he hummed just before taking a sizable bite of lasagna. She gazed back at him in curiosity, her nipples peaking as he tossed her a pointed glance.

"Do you plan on telling me what that means, or are you going to leave me hanging?" she questioned just before indulging in another bite.

"After dessert," he stated, putting her on a low simmer. "And technically, I believe that's my question."

She smirked her approval, allowing the lasagna to linger on her palate and tongue, chewing slowly so as to enjoy every bite.

"This is delicious," she stated. "Alonzo is quite the cook."

"That he is," Robin agreed. "And it's almost as delicious as the company."

"I had no idea you were such a smooth talker," she noted, spearing a bigger bite of eggplant than she should on a first date.

"I'm not surprised," he mused. "When I could barely string a coherent sentence together while trying to ask you out." He smiled in approval as she popped the overly-large bite in her mouth, and she watched as he took a leisurely sip of his wine, enjoying it in the same way she sensed he would like to enjoy her neck. "And I'm far from a smooth talker, you should know. If I'm coming across like that, it must be that I'm inspired by my company."

"Smooth," she teased, wiping the corners of her mouth, hoping with everything she had there was no stray marinara lingering on her face. "So how long can you keep it up, Prince Charming?"

He tossed her a wicked smile that hit her right between the legs.

"Robin Hood, remember?" he noted with a wink. "And as for how long I can keep it up..."

His brows flickered in her direction, her own tossing him a challenge.

"The proofs in the pudding, so to speak?" she chided, wondering if it was him or the wine going straight to her head.

"Why, Doctor Mills," he hummed. "The things you say."

"You have no idea," she grinned, emboldened as the tips of his ears flushed red. "Just wait until I get warmed up."

"Something to look forward to, indeed," he noted, leaning forward just enough to make his dimples look edible. Damn.

Talking with him was easy, too easy, and she caught herself opening up about parts of her life she usually kept to herself. They discussed children, careers, his immigrant father's friendship with Alonzo and Marco which led to the eventual opening of a restaurant nearly twenty years ago and his romance with Marian, a saga that had been on and off again since high school. She told him of putting herself through medical school despite her mother's disapproval ("It's easier to marry a doctor than to become one yourself.") and expounded on her decision to adopt Henry, nearly tearing up as she described her daily visits to the NICU until he had been able to breathe on his own.

"That can't have been easy," he observed gently. "Leaving your baby in the hospital for weeks, praying he'd get strong enough to come home."

"It was hell," she confirmed with a shake of her head. "And I'm a pediatrician, for God's sake. I knew why the stay was necessary, but I still felt helpless."

"It's different when it's your own child," he noted. "Nothing can ever prepare you for the depth of feeling you carry as a parent. Nothing."

She gazed back at him, her heart full of something she rarely mentioned out loud.

"Thank you," she whispered, watching his brow crease in confusion. "For understanding that…"

She paused, swallowing hard as she reached for her water glass and took a sip.

"For realizing that adoptive parents love our children with the same ferocity as biological ones."

He leaned back, shaking his head as if he was having to process what she had just said.

"Of course you do," he stated. "When you adopt, you're a parent by choice and choice alone—there's no chance to it."

Her lips trembled as her fingers toyed with the napkin in her lap, a sense of ease washing over her nerves like an unleashed dam.

"I know," she affirmed, her tone somewhat fragmented. "But not everyone realizes that."

"Then they're not worth your time," he observed, pushing his chair back as he stood and moved directly in front of her. He extended his hand, and she took it, the feel of his skin—pulsing and alive—doing things to her heart and body.

"And you think you are, Robin Locksley?" she questioned as he eased her against him, his palms on her back, his mouth a breath away. "Worthy of my time, that is?" She tingled from scalp to sole, wondering if he felt the same current flowing between them that she did, the question driven from her mind as his lips brushed over hers with the pressure of a fairy's wings.

"I certainly hope so," he replied, his tone deep, his gaze direct. "Happy Birthday, Regina."

She started to correct him, remembering that Henry had referred to this day as that earlier. But he was too close, too warm, and then lips demanded and mouths took, hands tracing curves and planes as a moan ricocheted up from her gut. His fingers were in her hair, on her hip, skimming her ribs, and she felt a wall press up against her back, allowing her to pull him as close to her as she could. God, this was glorious, amazing, mind-numbingly perfect, and she arched into him as his lips began a slow journey down her neck, rocking every nerve as she began to ache hard.

"I knew it!" a voice exclaimed, and Regina's heart shot into her throat, her body suddenly cold as they shot apart from each other with the speed of a bullet train.

"Roland!" Robin breathed, his face as muddled-looking as her mind. "What are you doing up?"

The child looked back at them and rubbed his eyes, his Ninja Turtle pajama top raised partially over his belly.

"I had a bad dream," the boy answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I'm all better now."

He then sprinted in her direction before she had time to think, sleep mussed black curls bobbing on top of his head, and he took her hand immediately, tossing her a grin that could melt an iceberg.

"I knew you liked us, Gina," Roland insisted, his smile infectious and disarming. "I told Daddy that you did, and I was right."

God help her—this boy could charm a cobra.

"Yes, you were," she confirmed as she squeezed his small hand in her own, her mind still caught in a whirlpool. She then caught Robin staring at her—no, at them, at her and Roland standing together, holding hands. She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, but his gaze held her breathless, her pulse travelling at light speed as she desperately sought her voice. "I do like you both. Very much."

Electricity surged through veins and down limbs, her skin sparking and cracking for his touch, her mouth charged and ready. His eyes were now cobalt, perhaps even navy, and she succumbed to the fog in her brain as he took two steps in their direction.

"See, Daddy?" Roland continued as he bounced on the balls of his bare feet. "See?"

"Yes," Robin answered, his voice the texture of warm leather. "I see."

She knew she should say something, that they couldn't stand here like this forever, but she was mute and mindless at the moment, her legs glued to the floor, her brain evidently checked out for the night. And he was in the same predicament, staring at her, looking into her, showing her his need in the tilt of his head and the creases of his eyes. The room kept getting hotter, but her toes were like ice, and she inhaled as deeply as she could under the circumstances, nearly choking on pure air as Roland pointed a finger at his father and grinned.

"I told you she'd like it if you kissed her," the boy mused with a giggle and a flash of his brows. "You see? You should listen to me more often, Dad."


	4. Chapter 4

"Mom, you look great."

She paused, sighing into the mirror, tugging on the hem of her red sweater, wondering if the form fitting cashmere was too daring for a second date. It certainly left nothing to the imagination when it came to the size of her boobs. She rubbed the front of her black slacks nervously, biting her lower lip without realizing it.

"You're fine, Mom."

"Jewelry," she whispered to herself, moving to her dresser and pulling out a small box. God, how could she forget her jewelry? She removed a silver chain and fastened it around her neck, touching the area her collarbone, stroking the soft fabric, wondering if the necklace would encourage him to explore that area of her body or put him off from touching her there. Did she want him to touch her there?

Was this even a real question?

"Mom?"

She added a matching bracelet, surveying her wrist with a nod, checking her hair again before delving back into her jewelry box. Then she paused, drawing in a deep breath, her hand idling back to her rib cage as she looked at herself without blinking. What was she going tell him about her scar? It was well hidden at the moment, but if things became heated? God knows they'd gotten heated enough last night, and that was in the back of the restaurant with his family and friends playing cards just around the corner. Tonight they would be alone—at his place—with no children, no father-in-law, no Frank or August, no—

"Mom!"

Regina breathed in, turning towards Henry who was sitting on the floor, his back pressed to her bedroom wall.

"Yes," she began, tapping her foot impatiently.

"You look great," Henry smiled, and something inside her melted into a puddle. "And Robin already thinks you're gorgeous. Don't worry so much."

"Who said anything about being worried?" she quipped, turning back towards her dresser, fluffing her hair for at least the twentieth time before she picked up two different earrings, holding them to the sides of her face. She stared into the mirror again, rubbing her sweater, squinting to see if the black of her lacy push-up bra was actually visible through the fabric or if it was simply her heightened paranoia playing tricks on her.

"Either," Henry stated, and she looked back, staring at him in confusion. "Either pair of earrings will work."

"And just when did you become an expert on women's jewelry?" she questioned, testing out the earrings again before tossing them down on the dresser in frustration.

"I'm not," Henry admitted. "But I promise you that Robin isn't going to care which pair you put on. Not when your hair looks like that and you're wearing that sweater." Her eyes widened as far as they possibly could.

"And just what do you mean by that sweater?" she questions, her brows drawing precariously close to her hairline.

"Nothing bad," Henry assured her. "Just that it looks really good on you." She tugged at the bust area, afraid of stretching the material, yet uncertain if the fit made her look desperate. "Besides, guys don't even notice jewelry when it comes to girls," Henry continued. "Trust me on this." She turned on him so fast that her hair practically smacked her in the face.

"And just what do guys notice, pray tell?" she queried, engaging her son in a staring contest. "When it comes to girls, I mean." Henry swallowed, his expression giving away nothing.

"A pretty smile," he returned, flashing a grin at her that made her narrow her eyes in suspicion. "And hair. Guys like hair."

She gazed back at her reflection, hoping her decision to leave her hair down tonight was the right one. She'd considered putting it up, thinking that perhaps that might encourage him to go for her neck. But Robin seemed to enjoy losing his fingers in her hair last night, twisting locks of it around his finger, ruffling it just so just before she'd had to leave. Her gaze narrowed, and she leaned in as close as she could to the mirror, tugging a wild gray out of her scalp. There. That was better.

"And have you been noticing anyone's hair lately?" Regina asked, tossing Henry a glance over her shoulder. "Anyone I should know about?"

"Maybe," he answered with a shrug, pushing himself up off the floor in flash the moment the doorbell rang. "That'll be Mary-Margaret and David."

He was gone before she could cut him off, and she closed her mouth, blinking back the reality that her son was turning into a young man far too fast for her liking. She leaned her hands on the dresser, the smooth walnut surface pressing back against her palms solid and reassuring, steady and sure. Unlike her life. Unlike anyone's life, she'd wager.

"What the hell am I doing?" Her reflection looked as perplexed as she felt, and she traced a fingertip over the arch of her eyebrow, moving downward to touch small lines creasing in the corners of her eyes, halting when it came to a slight indention just to the left of her mouth. She wasn't getting any younger, Christ—that was obvious, and neither was her son. He was noticing girls now, and soon she would be watching him get ready for first and second dates. The thought nearly sucked the air from her lungs, and she took a step back, looking at herself but seeing an empty space in her life. And when Henry was gone—when he left her for college and a life of his own—when he met someone who made him feel about a foot taller and convinced him that he could walk on air—who would she have then? Would she be content to live in this house alone, filling empty moments with work and more work, punctuated by the latest novel she'd checked out from the library? Would it be enough?

She'd thought so—she'd really thought so until a certain blue-eyed, sandy-haired restaurateur strolled nonchalantly into her personal space less than twenty-four hours ago, reminding her that beneath layers of strictly applied professional lacquer, she was still a woman. A woman who hadn't been really interested in a man in a long, long time, a woman who had gambled with fate when she'd returned to his restaurant and ended up making conversation and making out with him well past her bedtime. It had been a long time since she'd felt so alive. But here she was, standing—breathing—all thanks to the borrowed heart pumping steadily beneath her ribs, an organ keeping her alive yet unable to push her into living. Only she possessed the power to do that, only she knew just how much she was willing to risk on the highs and heartaches of putting herself out there. She swallowed past the sandy texture of her throat.

"I had a transplant, Robin," she practiced, rolling her eyes at the pathetic, wimpy sound of her attempt. God, she could do better than that.

"What—this scar? Oh, it's nothing. It's just where the doctors sliced my chest open and put someone else's heart in my chest to keep me alive. Mine just wouldn't cut it anymore."

Damn. She was getting nowhere fast. Surely Robin wouldn't care about her transplant. Surely he would understand. Why wouldn't he—he certainly seemed like a reasonable man who would listen to her explanation and nod sincerely. He might then kiss her on the cheek and tell her that it was no big deal, that her scar didn't matter, that it really meant nothing. But it did mean something. It meant her life. And the fact that it was giving her life had cost someone else their own. That hurdle still stood in her way of embracing what was right in front of her, a guilt she shouldn't feel but pressed into every pore and nerve she possessed, suffocating her at the most inopportune times. Like now, when a funny, available and undeniably beautiful man had asked her out for the second time in two days. A man she'd like to kiss her into oblivion.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath, twisting her emerald ring around her finger, wondering if it was too late to simply text Robin and call off the entire evening. She was terrible at dating—she always had been. It always seemed such a trivial and fake pursuit, dressing up, looking your best, hoping to impress the other person into believing you were amazing enough to fall in love with before the bomb of reality detonated on top of them. If Robin only knew all of the bitterness she'd harbored over the years, how many people she'd been willing to step on to get where she was, how she'd run more men off than she cared to count simply by being herself. Surely he'd realize fairly quickly that he could do better than a single mother with a sharp tongue and a decent ass, that while she might turn his head for now, eventually she'd make him turn and run. He would hurt when he learned that a mother of three a few doors down from her in the hospital hadn't been as lucky as she, how a match had been found for Regina while the other woman died but a few days later. Regina lived. But the other woman…and the unfortunate person whose heart she now possessed…

Damn it. This wasn't going to work. She might as well accept that fact now and cut ties with Mr. O'Dimples before she got in over her head and began to drown in this pull of this man's undertow. She picked up her phone, staring mutely at the screen, attempting to swallow down the bitter taste pushing up her throat at the mere thought of what she was about to do. _Come on_ , she instructed herself. This shouldn't be that difficult. But it was, and shit, she didn't know what she was supposed to do with that fact. She barely knew the man—they'd just met yesterday. Just then the phone vibrated in her hand, startling her so badly that she nearly dropped the damned thing.

A text. From Robin. Her heart shot up into her throat.

_I hope you're not getting too dressed up. It's just me in the kitchen, after all, and I'm afraid I have flour in my hair._

Shit. He was cooking—for her. Spending his free time in a kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans and flour, evidently, when he spent most of his life in a restaurant, for Christ's sake. Then another alert.

_I'm looking forward to seeing you again, Regina. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed last night._

Well that did it. Her stomach sank as butterflies went wild in her rib cage, her fingers numb and tingly at the same time. He wanted to see her again. He was looking forward to it, he had enjoyed their time together, he had fucking cooked for her. There was no getting out of this date now.

Thank God.

"Wow." She turned on her heels too quickly, nearly bumping her hip into the dresser in the process only to gaze directly into the face of a beaming Mary Margaret. "You look amazing, Regina. Absolutely amazing." She waved her off as best she could, trying to bat down the pesky moths in her stomach with a holey net.

"You've looked better," Regina couldn't help but point out, gesturing towards a splotch of something on the other woman's shirt. Mary Margaret laughed, rubbing at the stain as if it were nothing.

"Food coloring," she explained with a shrug. "Since Henry asked to stay over, I thought we might ice some cookies tonight."

"He asked to do what?" Mary Margaret was blinking rapidly, her mouth moving even though no sound came out as she looked over her shoulder and down the stairs.

"I thought, I mean," she stammered. "He texted us earlier, saying he thought it would be fun to spend the night at our place. His bag is packed and waiting by the front door. I assumed that the two of you had discussed it."

"Well we haven't," Regina shot back, rubbing her fingers over her scalp as she attempted to process this bit of information. What in God's name had possessed her son to pull a stunt like this? "Did he say anything else, anything at all?" Mary Margaret chewed her lower lip, and Regina rolled her eyes back in her in time with her shoulders. "You're a terrible liar," Regina stated. "You might as well tell me and get it over with."

The younger woman pressed her mouth together as she tilted her head, starting to speak before she shut her mouth again and decided to start over.

"He just wants you to be able to enjoy yourself, Regina," Mary Margaret explained, taking two steps in the other woman's direction. "He's been concerned about you over the past year—we all have."

"Well, there's no need," Regina snapped, knowing she sounded about as convincing as a used tire salesman. "I'm fine." Mary Margaret moved into her space.

"I know," she agreed, a motherly tone creeping in to her tone that usually annoyed the hell out of Regina. "You're always fine, always strong, always able to deal with whatever life throws at you. But last night…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes lighting up in a way that was almost magical. "Last night was different," Mary Margaret continued. "Last night when you were flirting with Robin, you actually seemed happy." Regina's knees felt wobbly, and she reached out for the dresser, clutching its rim for support as her own feelings stared her in the face. "You can't deny it, can you?" She swallowed audibly, clasping the furniture until she was certain her knuckles were white.

"I could," Regina managed, clearing her throat as she forced herself to hold Mary Margaret's gaze. "If I wanted to."

"But you don't," Mary Margaret reasoned, a smile nearly as broad as her rounding belly breaking across her face. "And that's a good thing." She gave Regina's arm a squeeze. "Enjoy tonight," Mary Margaret continued. "Don't worry about Henry, or me and David, or your patients, your scar, or anything else, alright? Just let yourself bask in the attentions of a very attractive man who is obviously pretty taken with you."

"You want me to have sex?" Regina questioned, watching Mary Margaret's brows fly up a full inch. "I just met the man, you know."

"I want you to do whatever you feel like doing," Mary Margaret clarified. "If you end up in his bed, good for you. If you fall asleep on the couch watching _I Love Lucy_ and _Laverne and Shirley_ reruns, that's great, too. There's nobody dictating what you should or shouldn't do tonight except you, Regina, and I think you should run with that." An unexpected thrill ran up and down her limbs, making her shiver all over. If it came down to watching old TV shows or making whoopee on his couch, she already knew which she preferred. She was fairly certain she knew which option Robin would choose, too, and at this point there was no alcohol involved.

Damn. She was doomed before she even got to his house. Face it—she'd been doomed from the moment he'd challenged her Italian Cream Cake and tossed her that grin that did things to her. But there was her scar to think about. If her sweater came off, there would be no going back, and God knew there was no way in hell he'd let her get by without an explanation. Perhaps she should take it easy on the wine and opt for Lucy and Ricky, after all.

"I'm not good and running with things," Regina admitted, staring at her feet rather than at her friend. "You know that."

"That's because you over-analyze everything," Mary Margaret returned, giving Regina's arm a gentle nudge. "Some things can't be reasoned away or explained, Regina. Some things are just meant to be felt and enjoyed. Don't be afraid to let go."

"That's easy for you to say," Regina shot back. "You and your Prince Charming have been together since you met in college. You've never had your heart torn out of your chest and crushed right in front of you as the love of your life walks away and doesn't look back."

"No," Mary Margaret agreed. "I haven't. But I have been hurt, Regina. I know how it feels to lose people I love, believe me."

Regina closed her eyes, shame ricocheting across every nerve. Over the past five years, her friend had lost both of her parents and suffered a miscarriage at thirteen weeks.

"I'm sorry," Regina uttered. "What I just said was…inexcusable." Mary Margaret touched her other arm, turning Regina slowly until they were facing head on.

"No," Mary Margaret insisted. "It was wrong and somewhat painful, but far from inexcusable." Regina swallowed hard, sniffing back emotion hitting her out of nowhere.

"I don't know what to do," Regina confessed, her voice barely audible to her own ears. "I really like this man, and…" She paused, drew in a shaky breath and did her best to steady her hands. "I'm scared. There. I said it. Are you happy now? " God, she felt like sinking into the carpet.

"It's okay to be scared," Mary Margaret assured her. "Don't you think I was half-terrified when I found out I was pregnant again, after losing our first baby just when we thought we were out of the woods? God, I didn't even tell David we were pregnant for two weeks, if you remember. I told you." Regina nodded, licking her upper lip.

"But you're doing so well this time," she put in, giving Mary Margaret a half-smile. "You look great, the baby is growing and developing on schedule."

"Exactly," the other woman cut in. "We're half-way there now, and all indications are that everything will go just as we want it to go. But there are nights I can't sleep, when I just lie there and think about this child, and I relive what happened before, over and over again. I don't know how I'd survive if I lost this baby, too, Regina, I really don't. But that fear didn't stop us from trying again. Some things are worth the risk. And love—love is always worth the risk."

"We're not in love," Regina scoffed, shaking her head a bit too decisively.

"Not yet," Mary Margaret grinned. "But you're off to one hell of a start."

"And if it collapses before it ever gets going?" Regina asked, feeling her resistance dissolve at an alarming rate. "What then?"

"Then enjoy it for what it is," Mary Margaret suggested. "There's nothing wrong with having a little fun, Regina. And if that fun includes a man with dimples that just won't quit, well, all the better for you." She smiled then, she couldn't help it, and she bit her lower lip, wondering if she was going to have to reapply her lipstick before she ever left the house. "I'll bet he's one hell of a kisser," Mary Margaret goaded, giving Regina a wink.

"Oh, God," Regina sighed. "We are not going there." She glanced at the clock on her dresser, inhaling sharply at the numbers staring back at her. "And besides. I think it's time you two and Henry hit the road. I need to leave in about ten minutes." Mary Margaret nodded and took the hint, moving towards the door frame before turning back to her friend.

"Enjoy your night," the younger woman threw back before she moved out of the bedroom. Regina listened to her footsteps as they moved down the stairs, heard muffled conversation from the ground floor and jumped slightly as her front door opened and then clicked shut. The house was quiet then, too quiet, and she moved to her bedroom window, watching Henry climb into the Nolan's back seat as David hoisted her son's duffle bag into the trunk. Then the back window rolled down, and Henry was looking up towards her window, waving good-bye in a manner that physically tugged at her heart. She waved back, clutching her necklace until the boy's wave turned into an exaggerated thumbs up. What was she going to do with that son of hers? More to the point, what was she going to do about the man who was waiting for her to arrive in about half an hour?

"Maybe it is time to let go," she whispered to herself, her feet seemingly glued to the carpet as she stared absently out at her empty street long after the Nolans had driven out of sight.

* * *

 

"It's about time you got here." Robin opened the front door fully, ushering August inside, his brows creasing at the few flakes of snow that were daring to dot the skyline just before he shut the door. There wasn't supposed to be a storm tonight, at least not that he remembered from this morning's forecast.

"Relax," August stated, dusting off the front of his heavy jacket. "We're only supposed to get a dusting." Robin's brows drew up into his scalp.

"You remember what happened the last time they told us to expect a dusting," Robin returned, pulling back the drapes so he could peek out the window.

"If you're referring to the blizzard that dumped over two feet of snow on top of us two years ago, how could I forget?" August shrugged, rubbing his hands together. "Pop's heat went out, if you remember, and he nearly set the house on fire using that ancient space heater of his." August shuddered at the memory as Robin stared out the glass yet again. "Is Roland ready to go?"

"He should be," Robin stated, glancing up the staircase to their bedrooms. "I know his suitcase has been packed since lunch time. He went back upstairs a few minutes ago to grab a few valuables."

"A.k.a. his stuffed animals," August grinned, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Last time, he brought so many he barely left enough room in the bed for himself."

Robin chuckled, returning his attention to the steadily darkening sky and rather pregnant looking clouds. He sincerely hoped the forecasters were right this time. He couldn't stomach the thought of Regina driving in the midst of a blizzard, although the idea of her getting snowed-in certainly had its charms.

"Thank you for doing this," Robin stated as he let the curtain fall back in place. "I know watching Roland all night isn't exactly a relaxing night off…"

"It's fine," August interrupted, waving him off. "Pop's already made us a pizza to toss in the oven, and I promised him I'd teach him how to play poker this evening."

"Poker?" Robin shot back. "For God's sake, he only just mastered Chutes and Ladders a few months ago. Don't you think something like Candy Land would be more appropriate?" August tried to bite back a smile, shaking his head ruefully.

"Last time he stayed with me, he very nearly ran me out of pocket change playing Gin Rummy," August admitted as Robin's expression morphed between amused and mildly horrified. "Come on, Rob, he hangs out with us in the back of the restaurant almost every night. Cards are in his blood—you might as well accept it."

"I accept that my Italian relatives are not always the best influence on a growing boy," Robin glowered, moving to his staircase and looking directly up at Roland's bedroom door.

"You couldn't ask for any better, and you know it," August retorted, crossing his arms and staring back at Robin's unconvinced expression. "You are planning on cleaning up a bit before Regina gets here, I hope." Robin sighed, rubbing more flour out of his hair as he stared down at his marinara splotched gray sweat pants and what used to be a white V-neck t-shirt.

"What? You don't think she'll go for the domestic look?" Robin touted in response.

"Domestic, maybe," August replied. "Human meatball—probably not. Although there is something to be said for trying to lure her to your body by wearing spaghetti-flavored clothes." Robin rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I am not cooking for Regina to lure her into sex," he insisted, his eyes unblinking. "I happen to like her very much."

"Whatever, Don Juan," August retorted. "But you're the one who asked if Roland could spend the night with me and Pop. If you expect me to believe you're planning on playing Parcheesi with her for hours on end, I'm not buying it."

"I'm not sure what time we'll be finished or what we'll get into," Robin explained. "And Roland's bedtime is…"

"Subject to change," August cut in. "For God's sake, the kid spends most of his time at the restaurant, helping with the dinner crowd and working his charm on the customers. He'll get to bed before midnight, I promise." He paused then, taking two steps in Robin's direction in spite of the reprimanding look on the other man's face. "Listen, I'm on your side here, Rob. We all are. If Regina stays over, that's great with us. We're just happy to see you back in the land of the living." Robin's ears began to burn as a lump took up residence in his throat, and he looked around the living room, his eyes coming to rest on his wedding portrait still hanging in the same place it had been for nearly ten years.

"It's just odd, you know," he began, his eyes fixed on the face of his bride. "The fact that I met a woman like Regina on the anniversary of Marian's death." He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze moved to his feet. "And it's her birthday, of all things. The very day I've come to associate with death is one that Regina associates with life. Rather ironic, wouldn't you say?" His chest constricted and swelled simultaneously, and his eyes misted over as he looked at Marian's smile beaming back at him from a day a lifetime ago.

"I'd say it's healthy," August stated, resting his hand on Robin's shoulder. "That you're interested. That you've invited her over. That you're remembering that you're still a man, and that you're actually considering asking her to stay over."

"Gina's staying over?" Both men's heads snapped back in a second, taking in the form of an overly-excited Roland standing on the edge of the stairs. "If Gina's staying here, then I want to stay, too," the boy continued, dragging a sack of toys behind him as he descended to the ground floor. "Please, Daddy! I promise to be good."

"I didn't say that Regina was staying over," Robin countered, skewering a retreating August with his eyes. "And don't you remember how I told you about how dating works? That grown-ups need some time alone together to see if they can get along?"

"But you two were getting along great last night," Roland argued with a smile. "Especially when you were kissing." Robin felt the beginnings of a headache behind his eye sockets, and he pressed the bridge of his nose, wondering just how the hell he was supposed to get Roland and August out of the house, finish cooking dinner for Regina and make himself presentable in less than half an hour.

Dinner…how long had he been talking to August? Oh, shit.

"What's that smell, Daddy?" Roland asked as if on cue, his nose wrinkling in time with August's.

"No," Robin uttered, turning on his heels and running to the kitchen. "No, oh no, oh no!" The oven was smoking, there was no other word for it, and he grabbed an oven mitt and hoisted it over his hand, opening the oven door, allowing billows of smoke to flow out and invade the room. He backed up until most of it had passed then reached in as his heart sank to his knees, pulling out a baking sheet with a charred lump sitting on top of it that looked about as appetizing as it smelled.

"What's that?" Roland asked, his face scrunched up in confusion.

"It's supposed to be peasant bread," Robin answered, staring at it as if he should have had it insured. "Shit. What am I supposed to do now?"

"You're not supposed to say that word," Roland uttered, his eyes now the diameter of silver dollars. "Even though Uncle Frank says it all the time."

Just then the kettle lid began to jiggle and shake, and Robin turned around just in time to see marinara sauce begin to ooze over the corners of the large pot and down the sides. He grabbed the scorching dish and moved it to a cool burner, waving the mitt helplessly over the now steaming goop of tomato sauce charring stubbornly to his stove top.

"Great," Robin sighed, wiping his now sweaty brow with his bare arm. "Just great. So much for impressing her with my cooking skills."

"That's never a good plan," August interjected before he began to cough and cover his nose with his sleeve. "Too much can go wrong."

"No kidding," Robin practically shouted, trying to quell the cresting waves of frustration smacking him from all sides. His stomach did a back flip, and he prayed he wouldn't puke all over the kitchen floor. He surveyed the damage, knowing it was beyond him to rectify everything in the short amount of time he had left and wondering where in God's name he was supposed to even start.

"Is the smoke detector broken?" It was August who posed the question, and Robin shot him an exasperated look, knowing the question was a valid one as smoke stung their eyes yet no alarm began to sound.

"I replaced the batteries on New Year's Day," Robin stated, shooting a glance up at the white disc mounted to the wall. The light was blinking green, but the device was as silent as the grave, a fact that both pleased and sickened him. He heard August open the window over the sink, and he and Roland began to fan the kitchen as Robin attempted to clean up the mess that was supposed to have been dinner.

"She's going to be here in about twenty minutes," he murmured, raking his scalp with his fingers as he gnawed his lower lip to distraction. He looked back at August, who paused his arm waving and held up his phone.

"I've already texted Pop," August stated. "Told him we had an emergency here. He'll be delivering food a.s.a.p." Robin sucked air in too deeply, making him cough so hard he was forced to bend over.

"Thank you," he managed, making himself cough yet again. He poured himself a glass of water, dumping the rest of it over his head into the sink after drinking his fill. What remained of the powder dripped down his scalp, and he grabbed a clean dish towel and rubbed his head, drying his hair in a matter of seconds. At least his hair was now in decent shape. As for the rest of him and the kitchen…damn it. It was shaping into one hell of a night already. They all set about cleaning up the mess, throwing away the lump of coal that was supposed to have been dinner, scrubbing the stove-top, washing the few dishes that remained in the sink.

"Go clean up, Rob," August instructed as he shot a worried glance at the clock. "I'll take care of whatever's left."

He took him up on that offer, dashing to his bedroom and grabbing the khakis he had pressed earlier in the day. He donned a fresh tank top before sliding on a white button-down with a collar starched so stiff it would make Mr. Darcy proud. Teeth brushed, Scope gargled, a dash of Bvlgari Pour Homme Soir in all the right places, and he dared to step back a take a look in the mirror, somewhat pleased and more than a little terrified by his appearance. Did he look like he was trying too hard? He certainly felt like a bumbling frat boy doing his best to impress the Homecoming Queen before falling flat on his face in the mud. He sighed, gazing down at a small, framed picture of his wife, his expression softening as he smiled at her.

"What do you think about all this?" he asked, biting his lower lip at the silence that served as his response. "I'm acting like a complete idiot, aren't I?" He stroked her cheek through the glass, feeling his heart squeeze as it always did when he spoke privately with Marian. "Of course, you didn't seem to mind my idiotic tendencies, did you my darling?"

Silence greeted his query, the only sounds in the house coming from August and Roland just down the hall. He gazed back at himself, noting how his beard looked a bit grayer, how a few strands of his hair actually stuck out before he grabbed a dab of gel and set them into submission. What the hell was he doing? The dating world scared the shit out of him, it always had, yet here he stood, nervous as a seventeen year old virgin trying to work up his nerve, wondering for the umpteenth time what a woman like Regina Mills would ever see in the likes of him?

"I'm actually doing this, Marian," he breathed, rubbing restless hands together as he chuckled at himself. "Wish me luck."

The sound of the doorbell made him nearly jump out of his shoes. He hurried back into the living room, feeling a weight fall from his chest as Marco entered carrying two aluminum trays and a brown paper bag.

"Dinner for two," the older man announced, making his way to the small dining room table where he commenced to set out a spread. "Augusto—bring me some dishes so this looks like Robin's doing and not mine." August complied immediately as Marco handed Robin a bottle of Merlot. "Open it now," Marco instructed, his expression brokering no disagreement. "Let it breath."

He moved back into the kitchen, wine bottle in hand, and quickly pulled out the corkscrew from its drawer. He uncorked it with a small pop and left it on the counter as he reached up for two wine glasses.

"It's still smoky in here," Roland stated, waving his arm in front of his face. "My eyes hurt, Daddy."

"I know," Robin replied, handing Marco the wine glasses to add to the table setting. "It will get better Roland. I promise."

More ironic words could have never been spoken. If he'd only known how much worse everything was about to get. Roland rubbed his eyes as he continued to walk through the kitchen, relying on feel and memory to get him from one place to the next.

"Roland," Robin barked unexpectedly. "Watch out!"

But he could only stare in horror as his son ran directly into the kitchen counter, falling down on his bottom as the wine followed him to the floor. The bottle shattered on tile, glass and Merlot flying across the room with ninety-five percent of the liquid landing right on Robin's pants and shirt. Roland blinked open his eyes, afraid to move, afraid to look at his dad, afraid to do anything but wail at the top of his lungs.

"Roland!" Robin yelled. "Are you alright?"

August scooped him up before the boy could accidentally cut himself on the glass and set him on the living room carpet. He examined him quickly, looking back at Robin with a relieved expression.

"He's fine," August breathed, and Robin let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Not even a scratch that I can find."

"Thank God," Robin muttered, watching as Marco crossed himself and whispered up a prayer of gratitude. He then grabbed a broom and dustpan, dealing with the broken glass before bothering to mop up the wine.

"Go change again, Robin," August barked as he took the broom from his hands and gestured towards Robin's pants. "It's not a pretty sight."

Robin actually looked down at himself then, his insides twisting into some sort of demented maze as he surveyed the damage. He was soaked in a what would have been a rather nice Merlot, smelling more like a vineyard than the Bvlgari he'd applied just minutes earlier. Shit. Just shit. And it was far too late to text Regina and tell her he was running behind. He untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it down to the kitchen floor in frustration as he unbuckled and unzipped his slacks. Just then a deafening noise bleated out, making all of them cover their ears as he stared back at his wall in sheer anger.

"Now?" Robin cried out in anger. "You go off now? Twenty minutes after we needed you?" He kicked off his pants and began to pound the fire alarm with his fist, determined to beat it into submission before he lost his fucking mind. The bleating finally stopped, but his heart continued to race, and he sucked in one breath after another, just before the final nail was driven into his coffin.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Roland called out in excitement from somewhere behind Robin's back. "Daddy—look. Look who's here!"

He didn't have to look. He knew. Was it possible for him to simply dissolve into the vents and evaporate into thin air? He tried to muster what small shreds of self-respect he had remaining and forced himself to turn around, standing the middle of his kitchen wearing nothing but his boxers, a tank top, socks and a forced smile.

"Hello, Regina," he managed, wondering how the hell he managed to sound so bloody normal. Her mouth was twitching, her eyes were nearly bugged out of her head, but she somehow managed to hold her own and keep her laughter in check.

"Hello, Robin," she returned, unable to contain her grin any longer, making him feel about three feet tall as August nearly doubled-over and cackled out loud from the other room.


	5. Chapter 5

August had ushered Roland out the front door zippier than The Flash himself could have made an exit, once he'd extricated the child from hugging Regina's legs, that is, and Robin prayed that he'd imagined the slight squealing of tires still ringing in his ears as the two of them sped away, Marco following closely on their heels.

"You don't see me," the older man had insisted as he took the long route towards the door, covering his face with his hand as he mosied behind Regina. "I was never here." Then the door had shut decisively behind him, leaving Robin standing before her barely dressed and smelling of wine, feeling more embarrassed than he'd ever felt in his life.

And that was saying something.

She looked him over, dark eyes shining as she bit her lower lip, and he wanted to die when she met his eyes again, the expression of dumbfounded amusement almost more than he could handle.

"I think I'm overdressed," she stated, setting down a bottle of Malbec she'd grabbed on impulse on her way out the door. He sighed, puffing out his cheeks, and she chuckled then, she couldn't help it, grinning as the man in front of her turned a shade of crimson that rivaled the hue of the wine.

"No," he mused, his shoulders slumping just so. "You're just dressed."

And with that, she broke into a round of out-and-out laughter, a sound he could listen to for hours, he decided then and there. He joined in, unable to help himself, and he felt his body begin to respond to her as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Perhaps I should put something on, too," he stated with a self-depreciating shrug, hoping his boxers wouldn't give him away and embarrass him further. Then she looked at him as if he were offering her a tray of chocolate, her mouth upturned, her eyes a bit hungry, and he knew he was in deep shit.

She dared a step in his direction, appreciating the muscled curves of his biceps, the sculpted shape of his shoulders and the way his boxers covered just enough to make her curious. Muscled, tone, in shape, but not overdone, his body was just enough to make her mouth water without feeling as if she were having dinner with Rambo. And he was obviously affected by her presence, the way he shifted his legs just so, trying to hide the fact that he was sporting the beginnings of an erection making him all the more attractive in her eyes.

She didn't know whether to be thrilled or half-terrified.

"I don't know," Regina returned, flicking her brow back at him playfully, pushing away tendrils of self-doubt. "This look actually works for you."

He almost snort-laughed at this, feeling his ears overheat as he sauntered a few steps her way, the scent of her perfume far preferable to his own odor of eau de vineyard.

"You mean filthy and domestic?" he quipped, his stomach clenching at the adorable manner in which she crinkled her nose. "Not everyone can pull that off, or so I'm told."

She blushed then, feeling warmth creep down every nerve in her body.

"You've got to have the legs for it," she grinned, earning herself a delicious flash of dimples at that comment. He extended his right leg just so, dress sock and all, making her giggle like a college girl as he swept his hand in a downward direction just past his knee.

"My mother always told me my legs would take me far," he sighed, and she laughed out loud again, her tone throaty and wonderful, tempting him to forgo dinner all together and jump straight to dessert.

"And mine told me to avoid men with a tendency towards indecent exposure," she retorted, inhaling a cackle as his brows shot up to his hairline.

"Indecent, is it?" he questioned, stepping into her space, wine-spattered boxers and all. "Just a moment ago you claimed this look was working for me."

"I also said that my mother warned me against men like you," she hummed, her tongue sliding over her lips in an innocent gesture that set his lower anatomy on a steadily upwards treck. God, he hoped an out and out tent didn't pop up before he had a chance to change. "I didn't say that I took her advice to heart."

Her eyes were nearly black now, he noticed, matching her hair and lashes and making him want to forgo the stuffed shells and devour her on the spot.

"Oh," he stated, attempting to reign himself in one breath at a time. "So you're a rule-breaker, then?"

"The worst," she quipped, her nose doing that crinkle maneuver again just before her head dropped and her cheeks flushed scarlet. "Actually, I'm pretty predictable," she confessed, chancing a look back in his direction. "Dependable, according to Henry."

"Dependability is an important trait," he added, wondering why her forehead was creased in what looked like mild dismay. "What—you don't like being dependable?"

"I do," she confessed. "It's just not the most attractive sounding of adjectives coming from you child."

He chuckled, the sound of it humming across every one of her ribs until she was tingling bone-deep.

"Believe me," he murmured. "Dependability has never been so attractive." His lower anatomy almost nodded in agreement.

"Flirt," she accused, and he laughed outright then, flashing her those dimples that made her legs feel unsteady.

"Guilty," he admitted as his mouth came in close. "But only with you." He paused, his teeth skimming his lower lip as he inhaled audibly, pup-tent and all. "And that's the truth, Regina. I haven't flirted with a woman since…well, since Marian died."

God, how pathetic did he sound, he wondered, hoping against hope that the truth and an inconvenient boner wouldn't push her out the door when she'd only just arrived.

Her face was burning up, and she tried to swallow, frustrated that her palms and her nether regions had far more moisture than her mouth.

"I'm flattered," she breathed, and then he was just there, within reach, within kissing distance, her heart pounding so hard she was amazed he couldn't hear it from where he stood. "And I don't, I mean, I don't do this sort of thing, either."

"Aren't we the pair?" he questioned, tossing her a look that made him flat irresistible. "And just for the record, I don't usually flirt with a woman I really, really like in boxers that aren't doing me much good at the moment. This is a new experience for me." He grinned, and she blushed.

Shit. She wanted to kiss him. Right then and there. And she was going to do just that.

She hooked her fingers under the straps of his tank, giving him just enough of a tug that his mouth practically bumped into hers with a rather resilient smack, hoping she hadn't hurt the nose she'd already given a sound bruising. If she shocked him, he didn't show it, his hands snaking around her hips just above her derriere, careful not to press his stained and strained underwear too close to her nice sweater and slacks. She felt electric all over, bold and brazen and so unlike herself she was nearly giddy with nerves and power.

He pulled back with a warm sigh, his forehead brushing hers, and he realized he was already sweating.

"Regina, let me go and change so I can kiss you good and proper without making an even bigger fool of myself."

She nodded, gently kissing his bruised nose before tossing him a smirk he'd like to eat, and he released her slowly, backing away a couple of steps, turning around just in time to save himself from falling backwards over one of the dining room chairs that had been pulled out a bit far from the table in all the mayhem. She bit her lower lip again, and he knew she'd seen his near blunder. God, she must think him an idiot—a ridiculous, clumsy idiot, and he was acting like one, he knew it, like a love-sick, sex-starved puppy over a woman he'd known for just over twenty-four hours.

How the hell was this even possible?

Shit. He wanted to kiss her again-now. And he planned on doing just that as soon as he was dressed in something more appropriate than Hanes and Fruit of the Loom. Thank God he hadn't listened to Frank's advice to wear a thong.

Did men even wear thongs? The thought of his brother-in-law possibly owning one made his head begin to throb. Or perhaps it was the lingering smoke from his botched attempt at dinner.

She'd have to have deduced by now what a disaster his hopes at impressing her had been. The evidence continued to make the house smell more like a boy scout camp site than the home of a man doing his dead-level best to impress a woman way out of his league. But she was still here, he reminded himself. And she'd kissed him.

God, how she'd kissed him.

He made it successfully to his bedroom, wishing now he'd spent more time on laundry as he noted his best casual slacks were all dirty. Jeans it would be, it seemed, and he drug out his best pair of Levi's, donning them over a fresh pair of boxers before throwing on a brown Henley he hoped made him look at least somewhat manly. He studied himself again, reapplied the Bvlgari and took a deep breath, praying the rest of the evening would prove to be smoother than the first few minutes had been.

He rounded the corner to the family room, remembering just then he'd forgotten to put on shoes, only to find Regina staring at his wedding photograph hanging on the wall. It was odd seeing her looking at Marian—at he and Marian smiling on one of the happiest days of his life, his past and his present colliding in such a peaceful manner on such an innocuous occasion, but it was comforting, too, and he walked to stand beside her, smiling at the fact that she'd taken off her shoes. Somehow standing sock-footed on his carpet seemed like a good omen.

"She's beautiful," she stated, her eyes never straying from the photograph.

"She was," he agreed, his sigh squeezing her heart in an odd sort of vice. He reached out and took her hand on sheer impulse, warmed by the fact that she laced her fingers into his so easily. They fit, felt right somehow, just as Marian's had all those years ago, and he let himself relax into her, into this, whatever this inexplicable madness between them actually was.

"Inside and out," he uttered, swallowing down the lump that always accompanied memories of his late wife. She leaned in closer then, daring a look up at his profile, her eyes full of something he couldn't name but soaked up nonetheless.

"You still miss her," she said, and he nodded without pause, facing her directly, allowing her to see the cracks left by bone-crushing grief.

"I do," he admitted.

"That's good," she returned, noting his muted look of surprise. "That you loved her enough to miss her after all this time."

He gave her a half-smile, pressing his lips together as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Love is a gift and a curse," he uttered, clearing his throat as he looked back up at his wife. "Without Roland, I'm not sure what I would have done after she died, to be honest."

He was splintering in front of her, and she turned to face him directly, collecting his other hand into her own, allowing instinct to take over in a way she usually avoided.

"Children are everything, aren't they?" Regina asked, and he smiled at her fully then, a smile that went deep and rocked her knees, one that made her want to cradle his head to her chest and let him grieve as long as he needed.

"They are," he whispered, clearing his throat before squeezing her fingers. "Well, almost everything."

Her heart was fluttering madly, his pounding out of control. She stared at their joined hands, at the carpet, at her nearly bare feet, and she made up her mind to be honest with him, this man who was laying himself bare before her right here in his family room.

"I've been avoiding dating for a long time," she stated, and his brow quirked back at her in unabashed curiosity.

"Because of your ex-fiancé?" he asked, and she nodded in affirmation. "It makes sense. Once your heart has been broken…

"It's frightening to risk it again," she completed for him. Eyes locked, and she attempted to swallow down the trove of butterflies flapping around in her stomach.

"I still can't fathom how someone could walk away from you like that," he said, and her insides clenched down uncomfortably.

"You would if you'd known me then," she muttered, something in the way her brow furrowed bothering him deeply. He cupped her chin and raised her eyes back to his, asking her to tell him without saying a word. "He met someone who was more patient and domestic that I was, someone who was more focused on him than her career, and he decided his future plans fit better with hers than with mine."

She stopped there, wondering if she should tell him the rest of the story now or later. He had to be told—it was only fair, and both of them were of an age that they didn't want to waste time on a relationship that would go nowhere. But shit, she didn't want to get into that just yet, not when he was looking at her like she was a goddess sent down from the heavens into his living room.

"His loss," Robin returned. "I said it last night, I'll say it again."

She pressed her lips together, swallowing nervously as her pulse sped ahead.

"I was, well, pretty intense when Daniel and I were together."

He chuckled, and she withdrew one hand and swatted him lightly on the shoulder.

"Ow," he uttered, rubbing his offended arm, trying to look stern and failing miserably. "What was that for?"

"For laughing at me," she retorted, looking more adorable by the second as her eyes narrowed and nose scrunched. "When I was telling you something serious."

"And you say you were intense?" he questioned, backing up a step for his own safety. "God help me if this is your calm and peaceful side." He rubbed his arm, grinning back at her until he noticed she wasn't smiling. Uh-oh. He hoped he hadn't hit a nerve.

"You have no idea," she stated, one brow quirking up in warning as her shoulders fell. "What you're getting into with me." She sighed then, her brows knitting together in a manner that actually made her look worried. "I'm not the easiest person to put up with, Robin. I'm stubborn, I like to have the last word, and it's hard for me to relax and let go. I don't trust people easily, and it's completely out of character for me to be here acting like this with you."

It all gushed out of her so fast she was practically trembling as her toes sunk themselves into the carpet.

"Fair enough," he conceded with a slow nod, not missing how intently she was watching his reaction. "I'm also stubborn, have a tendency to sometimes act impulsively and mope if I don't get my way, I suck at keeping up with housework and have a terrible time sharing the remote. I've never acted this way with a woman in my life—Marian and I had a much longer courtship, I mean, we met when we were kids. This—this…" He paused to catch his breath, pointing back and forth between them, wondering why it meant so damn much to him that she understand exactly where he stood. "This between us is all new to me, but I want to see where it goes, what it can be, even though it half-scares the shit out of me."

She chuckled, tucking her chin, prompting him to run his fingers over her hair.

"I'm hardly Prince Charming, Regina, and I'm not looking for Snow White. I actually wasn't looking for anything when you bumped into my life."

He felt out of breath, she felt weak-limbed, and they stood gazing back at the other, wondering what was going to happen next.

"Same here," she uttered, her voice barely audible as she broke the silence. "Just the opposite, actually." She smiled, and he nudged her chin in his direction.

"So here we are," he breathed, warming her insides as no man had been able to do since Daniel. "Any regrets so far?"

Her head was shaking before her voice could catch up.

"None," she confessed. "That's the crazy thing." She wanted to kiss him again, wanted to feel his arms wrap around her and hold her close, but she reached for his face instead, cupping his cheek in a manner he seemed to enjoy. "And I don't want you to have any, either."

She had to tell him—sooner rather than later, immediately would be best. If he couldn't accept her as she was, she needed to get out now before she dug herself in any deeper, and she was in pretty deep already.

"There was another reason Daniel left," she began, noticing she had his undivided attention. "Something that's not easy for me to talk about." Her heart was racing a few leagues ahead of her, her mouth now the texture of sandpaper.

"Regina," he cut in. "You don't have to tell me now if it makes you uncomfortable."

"It's very likely that I'll never be able to conceive and carry a child."

The words flew out of her in a rush, making her feel ten pounds lighter and about as steady as an unbalanced unicycle.

"I had health issues at the time," she stated. "And Daniel thought he could deal with the fact that I couldn't give him biological children, but…"

"But he couldn't," Robin finished for her. She closed her eyes, needing to see his expression but terrified of what she might find. He loved kids, obviously adored Roland, had fabulous genes to pass on to future offspring, so if he couldn't accept this part of her…

"His loss," Robin repeated. "And Henry's gain."

She felt boneless, light-headed, even, and she opened her eyes to find understanding staring her straight in the face.

"You don't mind?" she questioned, testing the quicksand before she stepped into it any further.

"Regina, I have a child," he returned. "So do you. And if things continue between us, if we get to a point where we want to discuss a real future and creating a family, well then, it seems to me that there are plenty of children out there in need of a home."

She nearly laughed and couldn't stop a sound of amazement from sneaking up her throat.

"It also makes it a hell of lot easier for me to tell you that I've had a vasectomy."

He watched her eyes double in diameter as her mouth fell open.

"Having Roland nearly killed Marian," he expounded, his tone dropping a couple of intervals. "She had lupus, had lived with it for years, but giving birth…" He paused, clearing his throat. "Well, we were informed that another pregnancy could cause irreparable damage. So I…."

"You took care of things," Regina cut in, breathing in slow and steady.

"I did," he said. "Do you still want to have dinner with me?"

His stomach did a somersault when she smiled and took his hand.

"You're in for one hell of a ride if you stick with me, Locksley."

God, she was adorable with a slight pout to her lips, her eyes all dark and uncertain, her expression one he'd like to kiss into oblivion and back.

"I'm counting on it," he hummed, flicking his own brows back at her with a smile that was downright wicked. "I've always liked a wild ride." She snickered, making him realize just what he'd said and all of the implications that went along with it. "God, I didn't mean it like that."

"You didn't?" she asked, holding back the laughter bubbling up inside her like champagne.

"Well, only partially," he conceded with a shrug, his neck now overly warm. "Just please, don't char me to a crisp before we've eaten dinner for admitting that to you. Marco will be so disappointed if you don't sample the manicotti."

Her cheek twitched as she tried to keep herself from grinning.

"I was actually considering skewering you," she stated with a shrug. "Charring's not really my style. And I never turn down manicotti."

The twinkle in his eye turned downright naughty, and he leaned in close, whispering just over her ear.

"Take all the manicotti you want," he stated, his proximity doing things to her that felt like heaven. "Just leave the skewer to me."

She shivered from top to bottom, her palms ghosting up the side of his jeans. Shit, she wanted him, really wanted this man she'd only known for a little over twenty-four hours, wanted to do things to him and let him do things to her she shouldn't admit out loud this early in their relationship.

"Well, at least I know it's functional," she teased, making him turn his head aside so he didn't snort in her face. "Nothing more disappointing than a flimsy skewer, you know."

His neck was a red as his face, and his face was practically the color of a good marinara.

"I'm sorry you were confronted with my skewer so early in the evening," he managed, making her own cheeks nearly as warm as his appeared to be. "You'd think that absolute mortification would be enough to keep things in check, but…" He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as he bit that blasted lower lip again.

"Apparently, you do things to me, Regina. Things I haven't felt in a really long time."

She breathed in through her nose, trying to catch her absentee composure as blue eyes bore into every ounce of femininity she possessed. She was slipping, he was careening, both speeding down a one-way street that defied navigation.

"I know," she whispered, trembling as he reclaimed her hands within his own. "I feel the same way, and it scares the hell out of me."

One hand moved to cup her face, and she closed her eyes as his thumb traced her lips. They parted instinctively, opening for him without a second thought, and he took full advantage, skimming the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip just so. She was aching for him in ways she'd forgotten, throbbing in regions long-dormant, and she swallowed before opening her eyes, nearly bowled over by what she saw staring back at her.

God, this man.

Christ, this woman.

"I really want to kiss you right now," he breathed, and she nodded before the last word left his mouth, leaning in, holding on, clasping fabric and tasting life. This was more than a second date, she realized, far more than a physical reaction, he thought. This was good.

No. It was beyond good. It was right. And neither of them had any idea why.

"Are you hungry?" he muttered just over her lips, mouths still caressing as hands refused to let go. Her stomach growled, and they both chuckled, her forehead leaning on his cheek, his hand taking hers and holding as if they were slow-dancing. "I do have food, you know."

"Manicotti," she returned, her tone rubbing him in all the right places. "So you told me."

"And salad," he added, his brows rising in tandem with her smile. "Breadsticks, shrimp scampi, and panna cotta for dessert." She leaned back to gaze at him, her expression clearly showing her approval.

"Trying to seduce me with your panna cotta?" she queried, their heads nodding in time with the other.

"Whatever works," he admitted. "And you're welcome to dig into my panna cotta anytime."

He watched her mouth spread into a smile he could eat with a spoon.

"At least you're not challenging my Italian Cream," she tossed back, making him laugh and sweat along his hairline.

"That's because I'm dying to taste it," he breathed, notching the temperature in the room up at least five more degrees. Shit, if they didn't eat soon, they'd never make it to the dinner table—he'd carry her straight back to his bedroom and fuck her senseless, something he'd never in his life considered doing on a second date.

"The secret's in the frosting," she whispered, making him swallow so hard he nearly choked on his Adam's apple. "You have to whip it just right."

He coughed before narrowing his eyes in her direction.

"Sounds perfect. When you make it, I call dibs on licking the bowl."

"Then I get to lick the beater," she retorted, shocked by her own words as he grinned back at her, his gaze now hooded. She blushed in earnest then, really blushed, and they both chuckled, her nipples tingling in time with her lips. "Don't forget the nuts," she dared, nearly making him wheeze, only emboldening her further. ""Italian Cream without the right nuts is nothing short of a flop."

He shook his head, trying to regain some sense of decorum, failing miserably as he fell head first into this woman.

"No," he added, nibbling his lip, knowing hers would taste much better. "Floppy nuts will never do."

"Never," she agreed, wondering if she'd combust here on his carpet before she ever got to sample the manicotti. They grinned at each other, suddenly at a loss for words, each wondering if the other's body was as overly-heated as their own.

"Alonzo is the cake maker, not me," he confessed, inhaling as deeply as he could, trying to reign in his southern regions to a more manageable state. "I sort of ruined the dinner I was preparing for you, so Marco came to my rescue. Panna cotta is his specialty."

"Does this mean I should be kissing Marco instead?" she breathed, his jeans suddenly uncomfortably tight.

"God, no," he insisted. "Although he would disagree with me in a heartbeat."

Her arms slid around his neck as his wound around her waist, and they gazed into each other, both grinning like love-struck co-eds.

"And you brought wine," he added with a nod in the bottles general direction. "I'd say we're set."

"Set for what, exactly?" she questioned, and they tipped their brows towards each other, breathing in and out in time.

"That, my lady, is the question," he grinned, stating the obvious before pulling her into another kiss that hushed her ability to say anything else.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"That was amazing," Regina sighed, leaning back a bit in her chair as she took another sip of her wine. "Marco scored some points tonight."

"I'm glad you liked it," Robin grinned, looking far too smug for her comfort. "And Marco will be your devoted servant once he hears your reaction." He bit his lip and gazed at her, chuckling at something she couldn't see.

"What?" she asked, leaning forward again as he grinned back at her.

"You have marinara on your chin," he answered, laughing as her eyes widened and her napkin went to work.

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls," she returned. He reached across the table and took her hand, caressing fingers that had been driving him to distraction the entire evening.

"Only the ones I wouldn't mind kissing," he mused, firing up a low heat in her belly to match the warmth from the wine already weighing down her limbs. "To help get the sauce off, you understand."

"Hmmmm," she murmured, feeling deliciously full and slightly tipsy. "It's all about the sauce, isn't it?"

He brought her fingers to his mouth, coaxing them with this thumb until they were as tingly as her nipples.

"There's nothing like a good sauce," he stated, gathering one finger to his lips, drawing it into the mouth and sucking it just so. He watched her, his pupils dilating as a small moan escaped her.

"You should know," she tried as he released one finger and moved on to the next, giving it the same teasing attention that was shooting straight to her crotch. "My fingers are…very sensitive."

She hissed then, her inner thighs clenching together as he took on digit fully into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it until her eyes started to roll back in her head.

"So I noticed," he hummed, looking all too much like a cat who has just discovered a rodent safe house. "That's good to know."

She laughed, deep and throaty, and he paused his ministrations to her fingers, sucking in air to calm his already growing erection.

"Why do I have the feeling that you're planning on using this information against me?" she questioned just as he stood and offered her his hand. He guided her back to the couch in the family room before he dimmed the lights and moved to the fireplace.

"Against you?" he echoed. "I'm not certain I like the way that sounds. On second thought, maybe I do."

She giggled this time and stretched against the soft cushions, reveling in how good this all felt, her insides warm from wine, her nerves standing at attention, her eyes unable to move away from the well-defined ass in front of her.

"I don't care if you do or not," she quipped, and he turned back to face her after setting the needed logs into the fireplace, a poker clasped in his hand, his eyes unable to leave the picture of her snuggled into his sofa.

"You wound me," he tossed back. "Again."

She had the decency to look at least somewhat abashed as her eyes travelled to his slightly bruised nose.

"Is that why your poker's in your hand?" she returned, her eyes shining at his obvious embarrassment. "Too wounded to do anything but toy with your poker?"

He laughed, and she echoed, wondering what in God's name had gotten into her tonight.

"Hardly," he said. "Injury or no injury, I'm up for whatever you have in mind."

"Already?" she questioned, snuggling a pillow to her chest as he knelt to light the kindling. "It must be the shrimp if you're up that fast."

He tossed her a look just before he blew on the new flame, coaxing it to grow little by little, to burn, to spread, to fill the room with a light that was nearly as intoxicating as the bottle of Malbec they'd nearly finished off. He then situated the wood into position, giving the flame time to catch and smolder, and she lost herself in the popping and cracking of the logs, wondering just when the last time had been that she felt this relaxed.

"Undoubtedly the shrimp," he hummed, watching the fire a moment more before he returned the screen to its place and sat down beside her. He stroked her hair then, and she leaned into his touch, sinking into the feel of his palm against her cheek.

"You feel good," she admitted, her tongue almost as relaxed as the rest of her.

"You feel amazing," he returned, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. "And you smell amazing, too."

"So do you," she purred, her eyes closing as he began to rub her temple. Shit—she could get used to this, used to him, used to having a sexy-as-hell man in her life, one who partially owned a restaurant, one who knew what it was to be a single parent, one who had relatives who could cook, and one who knew how to kiss her until her limbs felt like warm wax.

"What are you thinking?" he questioned, his mouth within striking distance. She stared back at him, far too affected by those gorgeous baby blues than she should be.

"I don't do sex on the first date," she stated, her tone far less convincing that it should be.

"Well, technically, it's our second date," he shrugged, those blasted dimples sneaking out and chipping away at what resolve she had left. "But who's counting?"

"I don't do sex on the second date, either," she countered, grinning as he continued to stroke her cheek.

"No problem," he stated, somewhat relieved and disappointed at the same time. "I never have, either, to be honest."

"But it is a problem," she argued, catching him by surprise. "Because I want to have sex with you, but there's no way we should be having sex this early in our relationship. Don't you agree?"

He chuckled, licking his lips in a manner that made him look far too dangerous.

"I think we should do as much or as little as both of us feel comfortable doing," he reasoned. "We're adults, admittedly adults who've been on our own for some time, but adults nonetheless."

"Horny adults," she quipped, his resulting chuckle tickling every nerve she had.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" he teased, pressing his lips to hers before she could say anything else. He tasted like wine and the cream from the panna cotta, a heady mix that was quickly making her forget about the scar she'd taken pains to hide for two years now. Then she was under him, pressed into cushions, half-sitting, half-laying, completely kissing and being kissed. open mouthed and hot as hell. Her hands moved up his back, tugging him closer, wanting more, and he gave as good as he took, his mouth leaving her lips to trail a path to her jaw, hovering over her ear in a manner that nearly made her jump off the couch.

"We stop whenever you want to," he breathed, pushing himself up just slightly. "And if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me."

Her head was buzzing from lust-induced insanity, and she was tempted to tug off her sweater and just point to her scar as bluntly as she'd told him about her infertility. God, she might truly scare him away if she pulled a stunt like that, and she pressed her hands to his chest, needing to clear her mind even as she wanted him to continue kissing her until she couldn't think. But then his hand cupped the back of her head.

"Do you have any idea just how beautiful you are?"

She was rendered completely speechless.

He went on to tell her how she made him laugh, how he couldn't keep his eyes off of her last night when she'd come into the restaurant and how he thought it was amazing that she was a pediatrician, how he admired how she'd channeled her love for kids into a career that saved lives. All the while he was rubbing her back, relaxing her, making her feel safe and a bit foolish for nearly jumping him just minutes ago. Then she was lying on top of his chest, listening to him talk about Roland's colic and his mother's stew, about Marian's lupus and how the car accident that had taken her life had seemed like such a waste when she'd fought her disease so hard for so long. He opened up about his father's fight with cancer, and how now he was determined to keep his legacy alive in the restaurant that meant more to him than he'd realized until his dad had passed away, how he wanted Roland to always have a sense of his family, even if they weren't with him anymore.

She told him of her fear of thunderstorms and how she'd always been a daddy's girl, how her mother had been critical to the point of pain, prompting her to move out as soon as she could once she began college. She shared how she'd met Daniel her freshman year, how they'd bonded over a shared love of horses and how she'd lost her virginity in the back seat of his blue Oldsmobile. She then took a leap and opened up about being born with a weak heart, how she'd learned to compensate as a girl and a teenager, how she'd tackled college with the same zeal she had everything in her life, how she'd pressed on to medical school without a second thought, somehow pushing Daniel away in the process by focusing more on her studies than she did on him.

"Do you think your heart condition prompted you to become a doctor?"

She pressed her palms to his chest, pushing herself up just far enough to look him in the eye.

"I'm sure of it," she answered, more affected by his resulting smile of approval than she'd anticipated. "I'd had two surgeries as a child, surgeries that saved my life and allowed me to actually live. On my twelfth birthday I announced to my parents that I intended to be a pediatrician and asked them to help me open a savings account so I could start saving for medical school."

He chuckled then, making her insides feel like warm velvet.

"How did they react?" he asked, his fingers swirling over her spine in a spot that prompted her to close her eyes and practically purr.

"My father was inordinately proud. My mother—not so much."

He shook his head, puffing out his cheeks in an exaggerated exhale.

"How could she not support you in such an incredible decision?" he questioned, threading some of her hair into his fingers, making her glad she'd decided to leave it down. "I'd be bursting at the seams if Roland asked me to do something like that for him on his twelfth birthday."

"My mother had one ambition for me and one ambition only," she explained. "That I take care of my looks and marry a rich, ambitious man with a budding career in politics."

He coughed, almost choking, and she swatted his chest a couple of times before he claimed her fingers once more and gave them a kiss that liquefied her bones.

"How could she not see your potential?" he asked. "Your intelligence, your compassion, your empathy for kids who weren't born with a perfect bill of health?"

She brushed her lips against the scruff on his jaw, she couldn't help it, and he shuddered slightly beneath her, his hand moving under the fabric of her sweater but remaining on her lower back.

"Illness was weakness as far as my mother was concerned," she stated, watching his brows flinch at her words. "I was born weak, I grew up weak, so she wanted me to achieve a position of power, not one that wouldn't bring me any fame or public notice in life."

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand your mother's reasoning at all," he sighed, and she laughed, the sound warming him from his chest to his toes. "People who learn to live and thrive regardless of their physical limitations, they're usually the strongest people I know, not the weakest." He paused, thinking of Marian, of her inability to spend much time in the sun, of days when she barely had the energy to get out of bed, of tears she'd shed because she couldn't walk her baby in the park with the other mommies because the sun was out in full force.

"It's called survival," she whispered, her mouth so near his he suddenly couldn't see anything else. He lifted her chin as he stretched his face towards hers, brushing his lips across hers, mouths slightly parted, breaths mingling, fingers tracing soft lines across skin.

"It's called living," he breathed, sucking in air just before he rolled her underneath him, claiming her mouth with a fire that surged over both of them in a heartbeat. They were living now, she realized, seeking each other frantically as they re-entered that world they'd been observing from the sidelines, afraid that pain might single them out yet again. Her hands slid underneath his Henley, nails scratching and discovering, making their way from back to front, teasing him just below his naval just before he nearly jumped off of her with a yelp.

"You're ticklish," she observed, with an expression that looked rather like the Cheshire Cat about to pounce.

"I prefer sensitive," he corrected, a bark of laughter escaping her. "I'm betting you have your sensitive spots as well."

"Don't you dare," she yelped as his fingers pressed into her armpits, making her buck and squeal for a few seconds until both of them were laughing and breathing heavily in a tangled heap. She looked back at him, he gazed down at her, his eyes were nearly as dark as her own, her heart was racing in time with his, and they swallowed simultaneously, caressing, breathing, waiting for the other to say something.

"Stay tonight."

His words ran over her like warm syrup, and she gazed up at him, her mouth suddenly dry, her scar tingling beneath her sweater. She wondered about telling him the one thing she hadn't—that the heart in her chest wasn't hers, that it had taken a transplant to keep her alive, the truth moving to the tip of her tongue just as he misunderstood her silence.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't have pushed—I know you said no sex, and we don't have to have sex, even if you stay here. I'd just very much like to hold you tonight, to go to sleep and wake up with you in my arms—"

She raised her index finger to his lips, giving him a smile that prompted him to kiss her finger with more tenderness than she'd ever witnessed in her life.

"I'll stay," she breathed, nearly giddy with the smile he gave her in return as his elbows nearly buckled. "But I'll need something to sleep in."

His mouth grazed her cheek, and she was burning, pulsing, pressing up into him, thinking maybe she didn't need anything to wear after all as his hand traced bare skin up to her ribcage.

"I think I have a t-shirt you can borrow," he uttered as his thumb rubbed just below the swell of her breast. "And some boxers if you're really that desperate."

"Trying to get me in your underwear?" she teased, a low moan escaping her as his tongue curled just under her ear. She was killing him, the way she felt, the way she sounded, the way she moved against him in just the right places until he thought he might lose his mind.

"Well, since you've already seen me in my underwear, it seemed like a logical next step," he mused, his fingers continuing their dance along her ribcage. She was going to come out of her skin if he didn't touch her breast, but if he did, her sweater would most certainly come off and there would be another conversation they'd have to have, one she'd rather put on hold at the moment so they could just do more of this. Because, God, this felt good.

"So where's that t-shirt?" she managed, her head lolling back as his mouth slid down her neck, making her toes practically curl into the cushions. He grinned against her skin, his warm breath hardening her nipples further with each exhale.

"In my bedroom," he answered, his lips resting just above her collarbone. Of course—it would be.

His tone was huskier than she'd ever heard it, and it did things to her, things that were making it really difficult not to cross the line she'd drawn. In fact, why had she drawn that line in the first place? Her scar was feeling like less and less of a reason to keep her shirt on when he kept looking at her like she was a buffet and he a starving man.

"Shall we?"

"Alright," she muttered, her stomach fluttering as he pushed himself off of her and on to the floor, extending his hand in her direction. Her lips were dry, her mind caught in a continual loop, but the rest of her took over for the parts that weren't working so well, although getting off the couch was going to take some effort, she realized, as comfortably sunken in and sprawled out as she'd been. But there was no way she was going to miss whatever happened next, no matter how nervous and uncertain she might be. So she took his hand.

God—he could barely breathe.

She was a vision, her hair mussed, her lips bare and slightly swollen, and he kissed her forehead, he couldn't help it, finding himself more drawn to her that he ever thought possible after losing so much. She tasted like sweat, warmth and woman, a taste he could drown in and devour, one he wanted to imprint on his palate and savor in his sleep.

"I have a scar," she whispered, and he leaned his face in closer, coaxing a wayward strand of hair from her forehead. "On my chest."

"A surgery?" he deduced, and she nodded as she swallowed. "For your heart?"

Then he kissed her before she could say anything else, his finger tracing a straight line down the center of her chest until his palm flattened over where her heart beat below.

"Thank you for telling me," he breathed, wishing he could kiss away every speck of insecurity from her expression. "And thank God for that scar."

Her eyes filled then, and she blinked repeatedly, shaking her head as she tried to get a hold of herself.

"You don't have to show me, you know," he assured her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "We can just go curl up in bed, pull the blankets on top of us and go to sleep if you like. I don't want you to feel any pressure from me, Regina. Truly."

She couldn't say what took over at that point, what prompted her to step forward, to lean in, to pull his mouth down to hers and kiss him until they were both panting and breathless. But whatever it was, she liked it, it felt like life, like power, like an aphrodisiac cracked open and spilled out over every nerve she had. So she let it guide her, let it prompt her to move one hand under his shirt, the other around to his ass, shaking at the heat his kiss unleashed as his mouth kept moving down.

"I know," she uttered, drawing his lower lip through her teeth, watching his eyes turn nearly black as he scooped her up to his chest and carried her to his bedroom, kissing her every step of the way.


	6. Chapter 6

She was drowning, her body panting for more of Robin as intensely as her lungs ached for air. Every sense she had was tuned into him-the way he held her, how his arm felt beneath her legs, the manner in which she fit into his chest as if it had been designed with her in mind, the way he kissed her like she was the sexiest woman alive.

"God, Regina," he managed as he somehow stumbled into his bedroom without dropping her. She was vaguely aware of the door hitting the wall behind them with a loud thump, but even that awareness faded into nothingness as she kissed his neck, the taste of salt and anticipation only increasing the buzz that still lingered from the wine she'd drunk. He set her down gently, his lips leaving hers only long enough for her feet to find the carpet. Then his tongue was in her mouth again, his palms open and warm as they skimmed the curve of her hips before coming to rest just below her waist. His mouth moved across her jaw, finding a spot beneath her ear that did things to her, things she liked far too much, things no one had done to her since Daniel walked away. She moaned as her head fell back, offering up her neck to him as a hand slid under her sweater and made its way up her back. She pressed her chest into his as her fingers snaked into his hair, demanding his mouth on her own, kissing him heatedly, open-mouthed and raw.

"T-shirt," she breathed as his fingers skimmed along her bra strap, discovering a ticklish spot that made her jump. He leaned back, his eyes fogged, his frown of confusion making her want him all the more. "You promised me a t-shirt, remember?"

"Right," he murmured, shaking his head to jog his memory. "I did." He stepped back, unwilling to take his eyes off of her for more than a few seconds, half-terrified she might change her mind and run out the front door. She was a vision standing there, hair mussed, lips swollen, form-fitting sweater twisted around her waist. He opened one drawer, cursing the moment he realized he'd opened the wrong one, her throaty chuckle at his error somehow only increasing his need to be inside her. He shut it clumsily, pulling out the one above it, taking out a gray V-neck and extending it in her direction with a sigh of relief. "Is this alright?"

She bit her lower lip as she took a step in his direction, extending her arm to feel the fabric.

"It's soft," she noted, rubbing the shirt between her fingers. "Feels nice." She tugged it out of his grip, propelling him forward in her direction.

"Not as nice as you," he uttered, far too gone to think of anything cleverer to say as he pulled her body flush with his. His hands cupped her face just before he kissed her senseless, the t-shirt slipping through her fingers to the floor, all but forgotten. God, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and before she knew it, her leg wrapped itself around his calf, prompting him to moan inside her mouth as her body sought friction in all the right places. His palms moved around her backside, cupping her ass, stroking gently before giving her cheeks a slight squeeze. She moaned at the contact, pressing her groin directly into his, able to feel his erection pressing urgently against the seam of his Levis.

"Do you really need the t-shirt?"

His arms wrapped around her, one hand working its way back under her sweater while the other remained splayed across her rear end.. Then his mouth found her neck again, making it impossible for her to reason, much less answer whatever it was he had asked her. What was it? Her mind was too far gone for recollection, sensation taking over as heat pooled between her thighs and her nipples stood to attention. Need pulsed into an ache, one becoming more insistent by the second, and he squeezed her ass again, eliciting a sound from her that seemed to only spur him on. This was good, so very, very good, the way he kissed her, the way his arousal nestled hard and hot between her legs. Then his hand moved from her back to her front, his palm finding her breast and cupping it through her bra, sending jolts of electricity straight to her core. Reality and desire zinged through her simultaneously as he tugged on one nipple, insecurity battling the primal urge to let him take her hard and fast against the wall. Then one finger found it, the jagged, irregular skin that marked her sternum and somehow her soul along with it, and she stiffened instantly, fear taking over before she could call it back.

The t-shirt. He'd asked her if she really wanted the t-shirt.

She pressed her palms into his chest, pushing him back just a hair, the mere scent of him nearly making her swoon into him. His breath was hot and heavy against her cheek, it's intensity betraying a need obviously as urgent as her own. Her mind began to catch up with the rest of her, bringing her back to the reality of what he'd asked just as he rephrased his own question. His eyes were so dark, hooded with naked want.

Her anxiety was palpable, had become so since the second he'd touched the physical reminder of her surgery. She shivered in his arms, making him wonder if it was desire or nerves now taking the lead in this after hours tango of theirs. He leaned in, taking her chin in his fingers and tilting it up in his direction, needing to see her expression, hoping to read what it was she was having trouble saying out loud. The insecurity in her eyes socked him in the gut.

"Is it the scar?"

Her glance intensified at his question, her gaze beckoning him on some odd round of hide and seek. God, she was stunning, mystifying, completely lethal to his mental health, and he forced himself to breathe, to try to keep himself in check, especially the parts of him that were crying out for this woman who'd managed to turn his life upside down within forty-eight hours. "I told you that doesn't matter to me," he breathed, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. Her skin was still hot, betraying the same wanton eagerness burning low in his belly. She wanted him, just as he wanted her, but she still hesitated, the force of her insecurities threatening to unravel him on the spot. "And I meant it. A scar doesn't change the fact that I want you." Her gaze dropped to the carpet as she nodded, her self-assurance puddling at her feet like a worn girdle.

"I believe you," she said, her tone as steady as jello on a stick. "It's just that I haven't...I mean, the only man who's seen my naked chest since the operation is my surgeon."

He leaned back far enough to look at her fully, his eyes caressing her with a tenderness she felt down to her toes. This was dangerous-he was dangerous, this dimpled, slightly graying aphrodisiac on legs. How could he do this to her so quickly, sneaking in past her defenses with the stealth of a thief, making her want to trust him enough to throw open the private safe of her life and let him help himself to what he found? This shouldn't be happening like this-it was too fast, too ridiculous, they barely knew each other, she never had sex this early in a relationship-did this even qualify as a relationship?

"Would you like another shirt?" he questioned. His words drifted into her senses slowly, cutting through the warring mists of need and nerves. "A crew neck, perhaps? Would that make you feel better?" Mortification skittered over her skin, making her fidget like a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew. He knew, could obviously see how uneasy the thought of being completely naked in front of him made her. Shit, she'd let him see that, and there was no going back now, no running away, no matter how much she might want to.

"I…" she tried, her words disintegrating before they had even formed. God-she was stronger than this. She'd never been uneasy about the appearance of her body until after the transplant, and the constraints she now felt held her in an unwelcome vice. Yes-a part of her body used to belong to someone else, and yes, her scar would always be a reminder of that. But was she going to allow her misgivings to keep her from embracing the first viable invitation back into womanhood she'd had in years?

"Remember, as much as I want you, we don't have to go any further tonight," he whispered, his words running through her insides like molten silver. "You can simply put on the shirt and go to sleep, if you'd rather."

_As much as I want you_. The words sent zings of electricity through every nerve she had, shooting currents of pulsing need straight to her core. She summoned up all the resolve she possessed, swallowing down as much fear as she could muster.

"No," she returned, pushing aside her misgivings as best as she could. "That's not what I want."

"There's nothing that says you have to be completely naked to have sex," he mused, feeling his jeans tighten even more at the hooded expression she tossed him. Her eyes were a portal into a realm he wanted to dive into and consume, and he watched in fascination as his words finally took root. "I've no doubt you'd be sexy as hell in any of my shirts. You can take your pick." His offer reached out and stroked her, drawing her into his body until their noses and foreheads touched. He felt her tremble as his hands rubbed her arms, exhaling with her as her eyes focused in on him. "I want you to be comfortable with me," he said. "With all of this. With us."

It was the last word that did it, that somehow managed to push the right button to strengthen her resolve and bolster her confidence. So he felt it, too, that this was more than a simple, desperate grab for sex, that it was something they couldn't define but wanted badly. And it was something she was going to take with relish. Before she could stop herself, she stepped back and grabbed the hem of her sweater. It slid over her head and off of her body, and she tossed it aside before she could think better of what she was doing. Her fingers ran over her hair, trying to quell the static her sweater had left behind, but she froze in place as her eyes once again connected with Robin's, the state of her hair no longer a concern.

He wanted her. The raw hunger in his expression left her with little doubt.

She shivered as his gaze moved to her practically bare chest, to her black, lacy bra, to the scar that often felt like an unwanted brand. She swallowed, half expecting him to change his mind, half expecting herself to do the same. But he took one step towards her, then another, until she could smell the heady combination of wine, arousal and man. Her breath caught in her throat as his finger made contact with her chest, and he traced the scar slowly, purposefully from end to end before he leaned into her and kissed her just over her heart.

"Stunning," he muttered, the words reverberating into skin and bone. "In every way." His mouth curved upwards before he could stop himself, and he raised himself back up so he could look her in the eye, wondering how in God's name she couldn't see just how desirable she was. He heard her breath hitch, noticed the slight tremor of her chin, felt her skin prickle beneath his fingers as gooseflesh sprang up all over her torso. "May I?" His fingers moved around her to the fastenings of her bra, awaiting her permission to remove it, praying silently she'd let him but knowing he wouldn't push her if she refused.

She shivered all over-everywhere at once, so intensely that her legs shook and she had to hold on to him for fear of her knees buckling out from under her. She felt frozen in time, wanting to move forward but terrified to do so for reasons that made less and less sense to her as each second ticked by. He continued to stand resolutely, his fingers unmoving against her spine as he awaited her answer, his eyes dark and hooded, needy from wanting her. Because he did want her. She sensed it, smelled it, felt it pressing against her belly, saw it looking back at her in a wordless plea. And she wanted him. Badly. Very badly.

To hell with her stupid misgivings and fear of the unknown. He'd already seen her scar, and her breasts were crying out for his attention, for his fingers, for his mouth. Why deny them what they both so desperately wanted? They were adults, adults who'd endured losses and barren love lives, adults who'd just had an incredible second date, adults who had more in common than she could currently process as she stood in front of him in just her bra and her slacks. Her nipples hardened as she drew a deep breath and nodded, her insides clenching in anticipation as he fiddled with one clasp and then another until the bra hung loose about her shoulders. He was breathing heavier now, beads of sweat breaking out across his forehead as she let the straps slide down her arms until the entire contraption hit the floor.

She was topless.

Bumps skittered over her skin as she absorbed this fact. She couldn't remember ever feeling this exposed, and he seemed to sense it, for he closed his mouth before biting that damned lower lip of his, allowing those one hundred watt dimples to grab on to her and refuse to let go.

"God, you're beautiful." His eyes were fixed on her breasts, and they stood to attention, aching for his touch, reaching out to him as she swallowed down her nerves. He approached her slowly, as if she were a skittish doe, his steps unhurried, his expression warm. Then his thumb made contact with her right nipple-a whisper, a question, an unspoken invitation that sucked her in on contact. She exhaled raggedly as she raised her hand to cover his, pressing him gently over her breast as his eyes refastened on hers. His breathing was an uneven as her own, and a thrill ran through her as her knees trembled and her nipples grew hard. "You have nothing to feel self-conscious about, Regina. Nothing at all."

She was still stiff in his arms, still uncertain of his thoughts, Robin noted, so he stepped back and removed his hand from her breast, smiling to ease her resulting frown at the loss of contact.

"What are you…"

He cut off her question by reaching for the hem of his own shirt and tugging it over his head, stripping himself to the waist so they could meet on even ground. She stared at him open-mouthed, his move obviously surprising her, but he silently waited until she discovered what he'd wanted her to see, her sharp intake of breath alerting him to the fact that she had.

"Go ahead," he urged. "Touch it."

She couldn't take her eyes from the large patch of scarred flesh that covered the right side of his body. It began just below his armpit and continued down his abdomen, and she extended her hand slowly, her fingers finally brushing hot, puckered skin, skin that had obviously been badly burned at some point in his past. He hissed at her contact, smiling as she shot him a look of concern.

"You didn't hurt me," he said, watching her eyes round in comprehension. "Your touch just does things to me. Good things. Very good things." She bit her lower lip, allowing her palm to flatten against his scar, and he mimicked her earlier action by placing his hand over top of her own. He held it gently to his body as she took in his injury, her swallow audible as she studied flesh forever marked by pavement and fire.

"Motorcycle?" Her voice was throaty, and he nodded at her question, feeling his erection press against his Levis as her hand moved slowly downward. Of course she would figure out the nature of his injury-she was a doctor, after all. But the concern in her eyes got to him on a deep level, a private level no one had been able to reach since Marian.

"Yes," he replied, trying to keep his burning arousal in check as she continued to examine his torso and failing miserably.

"This was a bad accident," she observed, straining to sound somewhat clinical in light of what she was seeing. "How far does this burn extend?"

"Down my leg," he answered, removing his hand from hers, allowing her free access to his body. "It stops just above my knee."

She blew out a lungful of air before licking her lips and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Then she knelt slowly in front of him, her touches feather light on his skin, and he drew in a breath as her fingers moved to his waistband, edging lower to where the scar disappeared under worn denim.

"You're lucky to be alive," she noted. "Not to mention still having full use of your legs."

"I have full use of other body parts, too," he mused, grinning at the look of reprimand she shot his way. "Though I should think that's rather obvious."

"How long were you hospitalized?" she questioned, moving in closer to his torso, her proximity making his throat thick and his larynx practically unusable.

"A few days," he answered, noting the look of shock on her face. "They said I was lucky."

"No kidding," she said, her eyes full of something that made his heart and body melt like wax. "My God, Robin. You could have died."

His chest constricted, and his emotions must have registered on his face, for she bit her lip in self-reprimand. He reached down and cupped her cheek, tilting her chin upwards so he could see her fully. Her eyes engulfed him again, beckoning him to a place that felt all too similar to home and forever, a place he'd believed had been lost to him the moment his wife had stopped breathing.

"I didn't feel so lucky after Marian died." She leaned her forehead into his abdomen, and his palm moved to the back of her head, allowing his fingers to work their way into her hair as they lost themselves in the silky texture.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, her lips ghosting across his stomach as she spoke. "I'm so sorry."

He kneaded her scalp, his craving for this woman who pressed her face into his hand intensifying by the second.

"But I was wrong. Only the luckiest of men would find himself half-naked in a bedroom with you." He paused as she raised her face to gaze up at him, a look he couldn't define filling those darker than dark eyes of hers, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "With you on your knees in front of him driving him absolutely mad." Her lips slid upwards in a half-grin that made his mouth water.

"Hoping to get lucky in another way altogether?" Her warm breath on his stomach unleashed a soft groan from deep inside him, and she dared a kiss just right of his navel, moving her lips along the edge of his scar just as he'd done with hers. This was far more than a prelude to sex now, he knew that, had known it from the moment she'd sauntered into his restaurant, challenged his recipes and bloodied his nose. This was intimacy, a baring of souls as well as bodies, the merging of separate sorrows into a union of unlikely hope.

"The way you're kissing me, I may not survive such luck." She opened her mouth over skin that had been burned and dared an outright lick.

"Then it's a good thing I'm a doctor." His chuckle morphed into a curse as her lips and tongue continued to soothe marked flesh, and she drew back, granting him a view of her breasts that nearly did him in on the spot. Her fingers moved to his fly, and she shot him a look he couldn't misread. He nodded at her unspoken question, watching as trembling fingers unbuttoned his jeans, her unhurried pace making him call upon every ounce of self-restraint he possessed. She paused once his jeans hung loose around his waist, licking her lips as his very obvious erection pressed out through the gap.

"You are in bad shape, aren't you?" she quipped, almost able to disguise her own nerves but knowing she hadn't quite. He grabbed her hand as she moved to touch him, drawing her fingers away from where he throbbed for her, holding her hand to his navel as he tried to speak.

"You'd better stand," he stated, clearing his throat yet again. "Your mouth being so close to me like that, I'm afraid that if you touch me, I'll explode."

She grinned up at him, a self-satisfied sparkle in her eye notching his desire up yet another notch. God, he was going to combust if he didn't get his hands on her again, and she knew it-she fucking well knew it. He practically pulled her to her feet, groaning as she managed to slide one side of his jeans down his upper thigh on her way up.

"Let me," he managed, tugging the jeans off unceremoniously and kicking them into the corner. She laughed then, a husky, gorgeous sound that squeezed his heart as well as stiffened his cock. "If you're laughing at Mr. Happy here, please lie and tell me it was something else."

The flicker of insecurity in his own eyes removed any last reservations she had, and she stepped into his arms and stood there, chest to chest, eye to eye, her fingers weaving themselves into his hair as she nudged his nose with her own.

"Mr. Happy is no laughing matter," she breathed, feeling him shudder as her words caressed his cheek. "But there is something I have to know before we go any further." His fingers paused around the waistband of her slacks, and he stared back at her, swallowing audibly. He was rock hard against her thigh, watching her intently as he purposefully held himself in check as best as he could.

"What is it?" His tone had dropped an octave or more, his words coming out as more of a growl than a sentence. She traced his beard with her index finger, taking her time along his jawline until she reached his lips. He drew her finger into his mouth again, sucking, nipping, toying with her as he clasped her hand within his and began to make love to each finger in turn. Some primal noise escaped her, and she pressed herself into his chest, allowing her nipples to rub against the soft smattering of blonde hair that decorated his physique. The sensation was highly erotic, and she lost herself again as his tongue and mouth fucked her fingers, her core now on fire as it sought the glorious friction only he could give her.

"Regina…" He'd stopped sucking on her and was panting hard and unevenly into her shoulder. She knew he was hovering on the point of no return, and the plea in his expression squeezed her heart just as his left hand moved to palm her ass. "Ask me. Please. Whatever it is. I...I need…" He was sweating as his forehead touched down to her own, his breath hot and ragged, his palm kneading her rear in an irregular pattern that made her burn. She cupped his face and kissed the tip of his nose, trying to center her own mind as well as his.

"Tell me you got rid of the motorcycle." He gazed back at her in confusion for a moment, watching her intently until her hand again found scarred flesh. "Tell me," she urged, allowing her fingers to dip into the waist of his boxer briefs. "I need to know if you're still putting yourself at risk like…"

"It didn't survive the crash." The words rushed out of him, and he felt her relax in his arms. She'd been concerned about him-truly concerned, and he kissed her briefly, unable to slacken the desperate thirst for her making him feel more sexually dehydrated by the moment. "And I decided not to purchase another one. Roland had just been born, and I had too much to live for." He watched as she processed his words, her expression unwavering, her eyes lasering in on him as she seemed to be making some sort of decision. He hoped he'd said the right thing, knowing he wouldn't lie to her about something like this, and he wondered for a millisecond if sex had been stricken from the night's menu.

That's when her mouth crashed into his.

He couldn't breathe for a few seconds, but he didn't care. Who needed air when a woman like Regina was breathing life back into his body? Tongues went crazy, hands went everywhere, and they somehow tumbled on to his bed, lying side by side until he moved on top of her and wiggled his eyebrows just so.

"I'm taking these off," he stated, sliding his thumbs in her waistband and giving her pants a hard tug. He pulled them off her legs and tossed them unceremoniously to the floor before moving back up her body and touching black lace and silk, the only thing now covering where she was already wet with need. She nodded and bit her lip in anticipation, shaking as he drew the fabric down her legs, placing kisses along her inner and outer thighs on his way down and back up her body.

"Robin, I…" She wanted him there, between her legs, against her core, licking her, urging her ever upward, but she couldn't ask, not yet, not for something so intimate and personal. It was only their second date, for God's sake, but she wanted him to go down on her and make her come until she couldn't see straight.

"What is it?" He raised his head as he nudged her panties to the floor, his palms rubbing her upper legs in a soothing motion that only made her need more acute. "Is there something you want me to do?" She was nodding before she could think, but she couldn't bring herself to ask him, not this early in their relationship, not their first time. Her cheeks burned as his strokes moved further up her legs, his thumbs now curving inward and dangerously close to where she wanted him, and she moaned as one toyed with her curls, relaxing her legs so they opened slightly of their own accord. He took immediate advantage of the situation, dropping his lips to her inner thighs, teasing her, coaxing her, baiting her until she arched upwards and fisted the quilt, begging for his mouth without saying a word. He nudged her legs further apart, feeling no resistance to this action, and he tested the waters further as he nudged his nose between her legs ever so gently, daring a kiss to her swollen clit that nearly made her bounce off the mattress.

"Is this what you want, Regina? Do you want me to kiss you again?"

Her eyes had rolled back in her head, and she made herself breathe in and out, her head nodding as she tried to find her voice again.

"Yes," she managed, licking her lips, her hips now pulsing upwards on their own. "Please." He grinned before kissing her just below her navel, taking his time with her as his mouth moved lower inch by inch. He used his thumbs to spread her open, inhaling the scent of her sex before his lips made contact yet again. She hissed, pressed her chest up towards the ceiling, needing stimulation to her nipples, half-afraid to touch them herself in front of him but needing to all the same.

"More," she uttered, wondering if he would consider her greedy until she felt his chuckle against her swollen heat.

"You want more than a simple kiss, don't you?" He was teasing her, the cocky bastard, and any shyness she'd felt melted away at that moment. One hand moved into his hair, raising his face towards hers as her other hand cupped her own breast. He ogled her hungrily as she squeezed her own nipple, and she did it again, emboldened by the raw desire burning in his eyes. "You are trying to kill me, aren't you?" he muttered, his voice catching in his throat. "First my nose, then kneeling in front of me, and now…" Darts of pleasure zinged from her nipples to her clit, and she rocked her hips towards his face, her insides winding themselves up even tighter as he let out a guttural moan.

"You like watching me do this?" She pinched herself and rolled her nipple between her finger and thumb, feeling sexier by the moment as he stroked her outer thighs and licked his lips suggestively.

"My new favorite program," he muttered, cutting off any retort she could have conjured by kissing her sex open-mouthed. "I'll never miss an episode again." She tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a whimper as his lips and teeth nipped and teased her inner thighs, tightening the already taught coil between her legs.

"You're good at this," she panted, practically jumping out of her own skin when he licked his lips slowly.

"Well, I do own a restaurant," he murmured, his nose toying with her pubic hair, her inner thighs, everywhere but where she was throbbing and ridiculously wet. "So I do know a few things about eating out." She chuckled then, her laughter abruptly halted as his mouth finally descended on her core. He nibbled her with his lips around her opening, across her hood, on her clit, ending with a delicious hard lick that made her toes curl. "And sipping," he continued, his tongue working a circle over her opening. "I'm also quite good at sipping." His tongue slid inside her then, and she yelped as his own heat met her own. A deep burn took root in her stomach as he fucked her over and over with his tongue, the sensations becoming more shocking and acute the second his thumb found her clit again and began to rub.

"I think…" she tried, pausing to catch her breath when his free hand reached up and clasped on to her left nipple.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, the vibration of his voice tickling her labia.

"I think this...this is more...than sipping." He chuckled again as the first tinglings or orgasm began to lap at her insides.

"You're right," he breathed, pausing mid-lick. "This is feasting."

His pace moved from hungry to famished, and he devoured her as he would a nectarine, making her writhe, making her curse, ,making her bite her lower lip as he refused to let up even when the first spasms hit her. A noise she didn't recognize keened up and out of her body, and he clasped her hips to keep her in place as he prolonged her orgasm and drank in her juices. She couldn't stand it anymore-the pleasure was too much, too strong, and she shoved his face back and away from her, trying to catch her breath again as his mouth made its way up her stomach.

"You taste amazing," he murmured just over her scar. "Best meal I've had in years." She clutched his face and drew him to her, tasting herself on his lips and tongue, pressing into his palm that now gently cupped her left breast, feeling sexier than she had in forever. She was hot all over, sated yet still needy, still wanting, craving all he had to offer, wanting to feast on him. Her hand moved down his torso and encircled his penis, and she reveled in the feel of steel sheathed in velvet, something she wanted inside her now.

"My turn," she hummed, giving him a squeeze that prompted him to kiss her with a passion she'd never quite experienced.

"Later," he said as his mouth moved from her mouth to just below her ear. "I really need to be inside you. Please." His _please_ cracked open a place inside of her she'd forgotten existed, and a sweetness spread over her insides like warm honey. She guided him towards her to where she was ready and eager, and he moaned at the contact, his teeth scraping her earlobe.

"Okay," she returned, her mouth grazing the side of his cheek. "Yes. Good." He stalled her momentarily, raising up and blinking as if trying to bring the world back into focus.

"Should I..," he began, breaking off as her fingers found his tip, her thumb rubbing his pre-cum across his head, making it nearly impossible to think. "Condom?"

"Are you clean?" He nodded as her teeth scraped the underside of his jaw, cursing as her tongue found where he was most sensitive and worked him over good. "So am I." She laid her head back onto the mattress and gazed back at him with eyes he could drink in the rest of his life. "I'm infertile. You've had a vasectomy…"

He didn't need hear anymore.

His hips moved into position, his gaze never leaving hers, and he let her guide him to her opening, allowing her to situate him where she needed him to be before easing inside her and nearly losing it on the spot.

"God," he muttered, pausing once he'd filled her completely. "I'm already too close." She smiled up at him as she pressed her hips up to his groin, encouraging him to move even as he struggled to rein himself in. She felt amazing, silken and wet, and she drew his face down to hers, kissing his forehead with a tenderness he'd never expected this soon in a relationship.

"It's okay," she breathed, rubbing her nose against his before dotting a kiss to the tip of it. "I didn't last long, either." Her hands moved around to cup his ass, encouraging him to move, prompting him to slide in and out of her as he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from coming on the first pass.

"But I want...you...to…" She began to rock her hips, instigating a rhythm he was helpless to fight, and he allowed her to set the tempo, one he knew would bring him to climax with just a few more strokes.

"I did," she assured him, her words throaty and hot against his ear. "And it was amazing."

He sped up then, his need taking over his mind as he hurdled over the edge with a near shout, his own body seizing as release hit him hard, his seed spilling inside of her, claiming her as his own without a word. He lay panting on top of her a few seconds longer, kissing her cheeks, her lips, her forehead, caressing softer than soft skin, taking in a woman he knew was changing the course of life as he knew it.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, watching as she shook her head and rolled their bodies until they were side to side, still joined, still connected. Her leg hooked itself over his thigh, indicating that she didn't want him to pull out just yet, and he tugged her closer, wondering how it was possible to feel so much in so little time.

"For what? Eating me out so hard I just had the best climax of my life?" His brows quirked at that, and he stroked her cheek, looking for any tell-tale signs of exaggeration. "I'm not lying," she assured him, her fingers sliding over his scalp. "And trust me-I don't feel cheated. Not in the slightest." He kissed her, slow and appreciatively, the lingering haze of post-coital euphoria settling on their bodies like a soft blanket.

"Good," he muttered. "But I intend to give you another orgasm later. I want to feel you come apart while I'm inside you." Her eyes darkened at his words, the side of her lip raising in a half-smile.

"I may let you," she breathed, her palm pressing into his chest just over his heart as he kissed her temple. "In fact, I'm sure I will."

They lay there unmoving in a silence brought on by wonder, speaking through touches, sighs, and hitched breaths, communicating on a level so intimate it felt almost sacred. He finally drew himself out of her, missing the connection immediately as he rose to grab a hand towel, and he wiped himself clean before gently pressing the cloth between her legs, staring down at her as she allowed him to touch her like this.

"Thank you." Her brow creased at his words, and she pressed herself up on her elbows. "For trusting me, for allowing me to see…" Her index finger traced the scar that had nearly kept her from allowing all of this to happen, and she swallowed hard, completely immersed by the gentle nature of this man who was making her heart finally come to life.

"Thank you," she uttered, swallowing again. "For seeing past it." She watched emotion play over his face, melting as his eyes creased and he moved back in to lie beside her. He scooped her hand up into his, kissing each knuckle before hitching his eyes onto hers.

"Nothing to see past," he whispered. "It's just a part of you, and that makes it beautiful."

Pressure built steadily behind her eyelids, and she blinked as a tear broke free, emotion clogging her throat as he rolled to his side and cupped her shoulder. She suddenly wanted to tell him everything, how hard it had been for her to accept the fact that she lived because another person died, how she'd been wearing guilt as an all-consuming shroud since she walked out of the hospital and into a new life, how she constantly wondered why her life was spared when another's was taken away. But then he drew her in closer and ran his fingers through her hair, and she couldn't speak, didn't want to break this moment as the heart that beat steadily in her chest finally began to feel like it truly belonged there.

"Why don't we rest now," he suggested, wiping the dampness from her cheek. "It's well past my bedtime, and I'd bet it's past yours, too." She spied the clock over his shoulder which alerted her to the fact that it was nearly one a.m.

"I had no idea it was that late," she managed, sniffing softly as she wiped her eyes, allowing his body heat to soothe nerves and muscle.

"We've kind of been occupied." His half-grin made her laugh, and he leaned in and kissed her cheek before moving his mouth lower to her lips, his pressure no more than that of a sparrow's wings. She was drowning in him, in this man who'd waltzed into her life and reworked everything before she'd had the chance to think twice about it, but she didn't care. She wanted to submerge herself in him-in this-in allowing her heart to be more than just a substitute ticker for the one that hadn't been strong enough to keep her alive. She'd forgotten what it was like to feel it expand and hum to new stirrings, to allow it to pump emotion and uncertainty alongside blood and what she believed to be safe.

"I guess you could say that," she agreed, allowing him to pull the quilt over them and ease her into his chest. "Otherwise occupied."

"I'll occupy you again in the morning if you'll allow me," he breathed, her nod prompting him to kiss her fully before exhaustion weaved its way around entangled limbs, binding them together in an invisible manner neither could see but both felt keenly. Her lids gradually grew heavy as his breathing steadied beneath her cheek, and she listened as his heart beat steadily against her ear, a reassuring thump-thump that somehow pulsed in time with her own, lulling her to sleep as if it were a lullaby composed just for her.

* * *

 

He certainly made good on his promise.

Regina awakened to something hard pressing against her belly, and she smiled as she tried to focus her vision, wrapping her hands around him and squeezing until he groaned.

"What time is it?" she muttered as his mouth encircled her nipple. She arched into him, vaguely wondering if she should do something about her morning breath when his fingers slid down and began to stroke her lightly.

"We slept in," he hummed, dragging his lips from one breast to the other, working the second nipple into a tizzy as his free hand took over for the one his mouth had abandoned. "It's after eight."

She managed some sort of acknowledgement, the time suddenly irrelevant as his finger found her clit and began to rub in small circles. She cried out as sensations became acute in record time, as the dizzying loop of nerve endings running between her breasts and her sex shot into warp-speed without warning. He realized this and backed off, staring down at her as her nails pressed into his shoulders, as her face scrunched in need.

"God, you're gorgeous," he said, notching up her frustration at the lack of friction just where she needed it. Then he was pressing against her, and she opened her legs further, her face relaxing as she guided him inside her with a sigh that bordered on desperation. He could almost come from simply watching and hearing her alone.

"You feel amazing," she murmured into the crook of his neck, her last word devoured as his mouth covered hers. The kiss was sloppy, a tangled maze of tongues and lips still fettered by the clumsiness of sleep yet eager for morning's consummation.

"You're beyond words," he managed, his lips sliding down her neck, open and wet, making her feel far sexier than she should first thing in the morning as her hips began to rock in time with his. "I'm still half-terrified I'm going to wake up, and you'll be gone." He tilted his angle slightly, his cock finding and rubbing her in just the right spot. She moaned, her arms drawing something pornographic down his back on their way to his ass where she cupped him hard and encouraged him to continue. "Right here?" he asked, as she nodded and bit her lower lip as flutterings began to intensify, and her body chased after more. He sped up, pumping harder as his mouth sucked her neck and his fingers toyed with her nipple, and her eyes squeezed shut as she climbed higher and higher, straining towards what lay just over the approaching horizon, one she hurdled over with a shout of his name.

"Christ," he muttered as she came apart around him, and he held her closer, feeling complete as she unraveled, wanting more of her even as his own body drew closer to release. He was riding her hard now, and it only seemed to prolong her orgasm, one that was now waning just as he exploded inside her. He grunted and pressed in several more times before stilling over her body and kissing her, welcoming the taste of morning on lips he knew he wanted to kiss for the rest of his life.

"Good morning to you, too," she murmured, her tone husky and satisfied as she traced a nail up and down his spine. He chuckled and practically collapsed on top of her, kissing her chest, her scar, her heart, still dazed at how it was possible to feel so much after so short a time.

"You're still here." His hands squeezed her shoulders as his fingers moved into her hair, combing back off of her face, making her wonder just what it looked like this time of the morning just after another round of sex.

"Did you want me to leave?" Tone arms encircled her torso as his mouth claimed hers, and he kissed her thoroughly, deeply, leaving her in no doubt of where he wanted her to be.

"No," he whispered as his nose brushed hers. "I'm fairly certain I never want you to leave." They touched and kissed wordlessly, reacquainting themselves with bodies bared the night before, reveling in the soft, hazy satisfaction of morning sex.

"Was that your stomach?" She laughed as he rolled off of her and onto his pillow, chuckling with her as his arm draped over his forehead.

"I'm afraid so," he answered. "I seem to have worked up an appetite for some reason. You?" She nodded as blue eyes gazed back at her, and he touched her nose before pressing himself into a sitting position. "How about if I make us some breakfast?" he asked as he walked towards her side of the bed. "Pancakes? Omelets?"

"After what happened with dinner last night, maybe we should stick to cereal," she said, unable to keep from laughing as he bit his lower lip.

"Contrary to what you witnessed last night, I do have some skills in the kitchen," he contested, moving towards his dresser and retrieving a pair of checkered boxers and a gray tank top. "What strikes your fancy this morning?" She stretched into his mattress, feeling luxurious, safe, and decadently delicious and wanton.

"Pancakes," she stated after considering her options. "If you have bacon to go with them."

"I have bacon," he assured her, returning to the bed and leaning in for a kiss.

"Trust me," she said, her tone thickening as she reached for him and rubbed her fingers along the side of his penis. "I know." He stepped back, waving a finger at her in a mock reprimand.

"Let me cook before we start cooking again," he grinned, making his way to the bedroom door. "And help yourself to t-shirts and socks if you want them. They're in the top drawers."

She watched him saunter off towards the kitchen and allowed herself another stretch, feeling aches in muscles that had been unused for longer than she cared to admit. A smile worked its way across her face, and she giggled like a schoolgirl as she finally made herself sit up. She saw herself in his mirror's reflection, naked except for the sheet she held on to for reasons unknown. Her fingers released it, and it fell to the bed, allowing her to stare at her chest and the scar that cut through it with new eyes. It looked different somehow here in his bedroom, and she stood and walked closer to the dresser, touching puckered skin, feeling hope where shame had once burned and dominated.

_Nothing to see past._ His words warmed her even as cool air surrounded naked skin, and she reached out for the top right drawer, finding a pair of socks that looked far too large for her and exceedingly comfortable. She set them on the dresser as she opened the top middle drawer, preparing to close it when she realized she'd opened the wrong one. Personal documents, a set of keys, lotion and chapstick were in this drawer, and she began to slide it closed once again when her eyes fell on something that made the heart in her chest stop cold.

It couldn't be. God, it couldn't be.

But it was-a letter-written in handwriting she knew as well as her own, and she picked it up with trembling fingers, hoping her eyes were playing tricks on her. But the words were unmistakable, the handwriting Henry's, the reality of what she was reading making the world spin haphazardly around her.

_Dear Family,_

_I_ _am writing to thank you for the gift you gave me and my mom. Two years ago, you gave her a heart, and it saved her life. Her heart was barely working, and she was on oxygen and hooked up to machines. She would be dead now, and I would be an orphan if you didn't do what you did. I know somebody you loved had to die for her to get their heart, but it saved my mom's life. And she's all I have._

_She is healthy now, and I still have a mom thanks to you. So I'm sorry you lost somebody you loved. But you saved my life because you saved my mom. And that heart is still alive and beating strong. One day, maybe I can thank you in person. But for now, I hope you get this letter. I hope it makes you feel better._

Oh, God. Marian. She had Marian's heart.

Tears blurred her vision, her mind racing off in twenty different directions at once, and she stumbled around the bedroom, putting on panties, fumbling with her bra, numbly sliding on her pants and her sweater as she practically ran out of his bedroom and towards the front door, the letter hidden covertly into her pants pocket. She had to get out of his house before she suffocated.

"Regina." His voice cut through her self-imposed haze, but she couldn't look at him, she'd break if she did. Her resolve was holding on by a thread as it was, and his eyes, his smile, his concern, he would destroy any strength she had left if she looked at him. He would leave her with nothing.

"I've got to go." Her words were clipped, cold, but she couldn't help it as she clumsily put on her shoes and reached for her coat. "I've got to go, Robin." He reached out and held her shoulders, smelling of coffee and breakfast, willing her to look at him even as she felt herself pulling away.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, angling his head in an attempt to see her face. "Are you alright? Is Henry-"

"I'm fine," she insisted, knowing he didn't believe her. "And you didn't do anything wrong, it's just…" She paused, wiping her cheek, giving away the tears that were streaming down her face even as she fought tooth and nail to hold herself together. "A patient."

The lie tasted foul, but it was all she could think of, and he nodded, accepting her explanation, pulling her into his chest for a long hug, one she wanted with every fiber of her being but couldn't return.

"I hope everything is okay," he muttered, kissing her on top of the head, cracking yet another piece of her soul wide open. She nodded, her tongue too thick for speech, and she let him kiss her forehead, still refusing to meet his eyes as she pulled away and practically bolted out the door, leaving him standing immobile clad in his boxers, spatula in one hand, his heart beating for her in the other.

The cold air was a physical blow, but she fought through it as she jogged to her car, not daring to look back as she threw open the door and slid inside. She fastened her seat belt, pushed the key into the ignition, turned it, and drove as fast as she safely could back to her house, thankful that Henry had stayed over at David and Mary Margaret's. There was no way in hell she'd let him see her like this.

She lived because Robin's wife had died. Roland's mother. Frankie's sister. She'd stolen the life of another woman, the woman who was supposed to be with Robin, the woman he'd chosen to marry, the woman who'd given him a child and years of happiness. God-she was a poor substitute for a woman like that. He'd hate her if he ever found out, and she couldn't have that, not now, not after what they'd shared last night. It sickened her to even think of him despising her, and she nearly gagged then and there on her living room floor, almost wishing she could just throw up and move on. But there would be no moving on from this, from him, not for her, anyway, not after letting him inside her in more ways than one.

He'd kissed her scar-the scar that marked where Marian's heart still beat. Not her heart-Marian's. It would always be Marian's. It wasn't until she'd staggered up the steps and fell onto her cold mattress that she allowed herself to weep, to curl up into a ball and clutch a pillow to her stomach as new hope gushed out of her, as dreams of happiness collided with the reality she'd never wanted to accept but couldn't avoid any longer. She was a cheat-an impostor-a flimsy understudy who'd stolen the heart from a good woman and had tried to take on a starring roll with a man who was way out of her league.

Robin was meant to be with Marian. And she was meant to be alone.


	7. Chapter 7

It's been five days.

Five miserable days since she ran out of his house in a panic. Five lonely days of ignored texts, unanswered calls, and of him wondering just what the hell happened after he left his bedroom and walked into the kitchen. One minute, they'd been kissing and touching, smiling and discussing what he should fix for breakfast-the next… The next minute she'd shot out his front door like a frightened hare, her face wet from tears she tried to hide from him, her legs as unsteady as her voice.

What in God's name had terrified her so badly? What the hell had he done wrong?

He touched his lips, remembering the taste of her, the feel of her, how warm she felt pressed into his body, how perfectly she fit him in more ways than one. He ached all over, longed for a glimpse of that smile that had dazzled him from the moment he'd laid eyes on her in his restaurant, craved her laughter that tickled his insides, missed her touch that left him burning, remembered her scent that drove him wild.

Regina. Christ, he just missed her. She'd left him a bruised and battered man living in a fog of his own creation, a fog he had to shake in order to get back to living. He'd had a life before her, after all, one that wasn't so bad, actually, one filled with family, friends and a son who brightened his entire world. One regulated by schedules, salaries, and late night poker over a few beers, one that resulted nightly in his lying down in an empty bed, a bed that had once been warm because of Marian's presence in it. A bed now colder than ever because of Regina's absence.

This was ridiculous-no, he was ridiculous. He had to forget her, this woman who rearranged his heart before he'd even realized she'd set up residence. Forgetting her shouldn't be that difficult, actually, not when she'd waltzed into his life and nearly broken his nose a mere week ago, all five feet and three inches of her. But she'd somehow worked her way into his psyche and under his skin, and she refused to leave him alone, even when she wouldn't acknowledge his calls. The problem seemed to be his and his alone. But she'd laughed at his stupid jokes, had been brave enough to stay the night after he'd ruined their dinner and presented himself to her in his boxers and socks. She'd let him talk about Marian, had held his hand when he spoke of her death, had listened to story after story about her Lupus and Roland's birth before sharing her own about adopting Henry. They'd compared notes about raising boys, being single parents, about trying to balance work and family, about dealing with guilt when personal needs arose at massively inconvenient times.

He'd told her there had been no one since Marian, that no one had even caught his eye since her death. She admitted that it had been years since she'd had sex, that she kept a vibrator hidden in her nightstand drawer and that she lived in semi-fear that Henry would happen upon it one day. He'd kissed her in a way he wouldn't have believed possible for him again, and she'd kissed him back with the same fervor, one he'd savored and devoured, one he now replayed over and over again in his mind. She'd let him see her naked, had allowed him to kiss the scar she found so daunting, the same scar he found beautiful because it meant she lived. He'd touched it, tasted it, had memorized it's texture as his breath painted assurances over exposed skin.

He'd thought they were on the verge of something special. But she obviously felt differently.

Why else would she leave him high and dry without an explanation, a text, or even a note for five days? But that explanation didn't make sense, either, not after the night they'd shared. No something was off, something he was missing, something that should probably be glaringly obvious and would probably bite him in the end. Shit. Just shit. He didn't love her, that wasn't possible, not after a mere two dates and one night together, no matter how mind-blowingly incredible the sex had been. He didn't think she'd faked anything, hoped to God he hadn't somehow inadvertently hurt her. She'd cried her release into his mouth, his shoulder, his neck, had cinched and fluttered around both his fingers and his cock. But it had been more than sex for him, and he'd thought it had been the same for her. She'd told him as much as they'd lain wrapped up in each other, naked and sated and so very tired. She'd shown him as much over and over again, through touches, smiles, caresses and whispered confessions that felt every bit as intimate to him as being inside her body. He may not love her, but he was in the process of falling, and damn it, it was next to impossible to stop mid-air and reverse the laws of gravity.

But he had to, it would seem. She'd made that choice for him after he'd already stepped off of the cliff.

"Daddy. I don't feel good."

He set down his reheated coffee, this morning's leftover brew he'd microwaved to ward off a simmering headache still bitter on his tongue. It was his night off from the restaurant. God, he was supposed to have been cooking dinner for Roland and himself while he'd been staring at his silent phone, brooding over a woman who'd written him off. But one look at his son's face let him know that dinner probably wasn't going to happen tonight. His boy was pale, his cheeks flushed a bright magenta. He moved to Roland and laid a warm palm on his son's forehead. Christ, he was burning up. He pulled Roland to his chest and scooped him up gently, somewhat alarmed at how limp the boy felt in his arms as he moved to the medicine cabinet and took out the Children's Ibuprofen.

"Here, Roland," he murmured, sitting his son down on the toilet seat, popping open the lid and pouring the red liquid into a plastic measuring cup. "Drink this." Roland grimaced as he swallowed.

"It hurts," he muttered, pointing to his neck. "My throat. And my arms." Robin ran some water into a small glass and brought it to Roland's mouth.

"This will help," he assured him, stroking curls that seemed droopier than usual. Roland drank without protest, his face scrunching as the liquid made it's way down his throat. He raised his arms up towards his father, and Robin picked him up again, glancing at his watch, noting that it was already a little after 6:00 pm. That eliminated calling his pediatrician, he realized, wondering then if Roland's temperature would warrant a trip to the emergency room. He grabbed the thermometer and gently nuzzled it into Roland's ear, growing more concerned as it took longer than usual for the device to beep.

102.3. Yes-it was definitely time for a trip to the ER.

He bundled Roland up in his heaviest coat, grabbing his _Captain America_ blanket for good measure as he carried him to the car, cursing himself for not warming up his vehicle ahead of time as winter cold stung his cheeks. But Roland didn't seem to mind, his eyes drooping to half-mast as Robin buckled him into his car seat and tucked the blanket in around him. How had this happened so quickly, he wondered? Roland had been unusually tired this afternoon, had refused his regular after school snack, had actually fallen asleep while watching Peppa Pig, but he hadn't been hot when Robin picked him up from preschool. Robin had assumed the boy had just had an overly busy day, but he should have paid more attention, should have checked him when he'd refused his snack, should have quizzed about his symptoms before this fever had spiked.

Shit. He hoped it wasn't the flu.

But it was making the rounds among both students and teachers at Highlands Montessori, as was strep and the dreaded stomach bug, and he breathed a word of thanks that at least Roland wasn't vomiting. Adding that to his high fever would be adding insult to injury. Snow flurries grew into decent-sized flakes as he drove, but the roads remained clear as he made his way to the nearest hospital and parked as close as he could to the ER entrance. Roland didn't protest as Robin scooped him out of his seat, his head falling onto his father's shoulder as one small hand patted his father's back.

"Cold," Roland uttered, prompting Robin to walk even faster towards the door.

"Yes," Robin said, rubbing his son's back through the blanket. "But we'll be inside in a second, and it will be nice and toasty in there."

It wasn't as toasty as he'd hoped, but it would have to do, he observed as they made their way to the front desk. Shit-it was packed in here tonight. God only knew how long it would be before it would be their turn. He carried the clipboard with the necessary forms in one hand while balancing Roland in the other, sitting down clumsily as far away as he could from any other sick person in the waiting room, a difficult task when practically every seat was taken.

"Want me to take that up to the desk for you?" A young woman in Cookie Monster scrubs with brown hair and a nametag that identified her as _Belle: RN Pediatrics_ stood in front of him, her hand extended towards the clipboard. He smiled, nodding as Roland snuggled further into his chest and groaned. "Looks like your hands are full enough," Belle observed, leaning in to feel Roland's forehead. "How long has he had this fever?"

"Just a few hours," Robin answered. "It hit him out of nowhere." She nodded, looking over the boy's chart.

"Sounds like flu," Belle said with a sigh. "We're seeing a lot of it this week. I'll try to get you two back to get checked as quickly as I can. The ER is so swamped tonight with the multi-car pile-up on Storrow Drive added to cold and flu season that they've called in extra help, including me. We have a make-shift peds area set up with two extra pediatricians on hand so the babies and children won't have to wait too long." He closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

"Thank you," he muttered, kissing Roland's curls after tugging off his toboggan. "I appreciate it more than you know."

Belle smiled and carried his chart up to the registration desk, speaking with the woman in charge a few moments, giving her instructions. Robin slid down into the chair, trying to get as comfortable as possible as he adjusted Roland in his lap until the boy's head lay flat against his chest. Even with extra hands on deck in pediatrics, there was still no telling how long they would have to wait, and he felt his own eyes start to droop as CNN played softly in the background and various people coughed and hacked around them.

"Locksley." The voice shook him out of his stupor, and he stood, locating a young man with closely shaved black hair and round glasses holding his chart and motioning him towards a door. "I'm Carlos," the nurse stated, leading them back through a maze of hallways and equipment. A man either in extreme pain or high as a kite was yelling obscenities in the background, but Roland didn't even stir, a fact for which Robin was both thankful and alarmed. "We'll get you two settled and I'll check his temperature."

They made their way through curtains into a small, rectangular space which held a chair, a bed on wheels, and an assortment of medical equipment that left Robin cold inside. He'd seen too many rooms like this during his marriage, especially during Marian's pregnancy and right after Roland's birth, and he swallowed down bile, forcing himself to focus on Roland and only Roland as Carlos checked the boy's temperature.

"101.6," Carlos stated. "Did you give him any medicine before you came?"

"Children's Ibuprofen," Robin answered. "It was 102.3 earlier, so it has gone down somewhat." Carlos nodded as he scribbled something on the chart.

"I'm going to check him for strep and flu," he stated. "So I'll need you to hold him still, if you don't mind."

"Of course not," Robin uttered, adjusting Roland so he faced the nurse and leaned back against his torso. The boy nearly gagged on the throat swab and tried to hide his face when Carlos leaned in to swab his nose for the flu test, but they got it done without too much difficulty.

"The strep test takes 5-10 minutes to produce a result, the flu test about 15-20," Carlos explained. "After we have the results from both, Dr. Mills would be in to see you." He nearly shot out of his seat at that.

"Dr. Mills?" Robin asked, his voice rising in pitch as his tongue doubled in size.

"Trust me," Carlos stated as he pulled back the curtain. "You're in good hands. She's one of the best."

Dr. Mills...a pediatrician…and a female pediatrician, at that. It could be a coincidence, but his heart pounded all the same, robbing his mouth of moisture as his mind scattered in one hundred directions at once. Roland snuggled back into his chest, asleep within seconds, and Robin was glad for it as he stroked the boy's hair, his heart in tatters as Marian's memory, Roland's illness and Regina's proximity turned him into a sodding mess.

Twenty minutes seemed like a bloody eternity.

He finally heard a shuffling from behind the curtain, and he watched as a delicate hand drew it aside, only to find himself staring at the very woman who had haunted his every waking and sleeping moment for the past five days staring at him with wide, tired eyes.

"Robin," she muttered, moving into the small cubical, looking down at Roland in concern. She seemed surprised, but not startled, and he knew that his son's chart had given her a few seconds to compose herself before facing him. How in God's name would they have handled things if neither of them had been given any warning?

"So you're alive," he said, hating his words as soon as they left his mouth. She had the decency to look sheepish, but she composed herself quickly, forcing herself to meet his gaze head-on.

"Yes," she returned. "I'm alive." The air was thick, his every nerve on high alert as he watched her look back down at Roland's chart and clear her throat. "Roland's flu test was positive." Just like that, they'd changed course. He was actually glad for it. "Did he get a flu shot this fall?" she asked, and Robin nodded, trying to get his train of thought moving in one direction rather than twelve. "Good. That means he should recover quicker than he would have without one." Her words continued, something about Tamiflu being a possibility but not really one she would recommend as Henry had a reaction to it last year, about lots of fluids and rest, and would he be able to get his family to cover for him at the restaurant while he looked after Roland?

"I owe you an apology," she then stated, catching him off guard, her voice far calmer than he felt. His insides churned, and everything hit him at once...Marian's death, his night with Regina, their love making, her running out the door, Roland having the flu….

"Yes," he said. "You do. An explanation would be lovely, too."

She looked hurt, truly hurt, and he hated himself for making her look that way.

"It wasn't you," she began, her tone barely above a whisper. "You did nothing wrong, it was…"

"It was what?" he cut in, impatience and pain prompting him forward. "Is this where you tell me it was all you and that I shouldn't feel bad about it? Because I do feel badly about it, Regina. I feel like shit, to be honest." She closed her eyes, swallowing hard before looking back at him.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I never meant to hurt you. And if it makes you feel any better, I feel like shit, too." A bitter laugh forced itself out, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"Then why did you run away? Why do this to both of us?" He stood, holding Roland to his chest, staring at her directly, willing her to tell him the truth. But her eyes fell to the chart, her cheeks heating as her breath hitched.

"It's complicated," she finally said, her hands shaking slightly. She looked so small and vulnerable then, and his heart squeezed until it hurt, until every part of him wanted to yell, to throw up his hands and run out in the cold until he was past the point of feeling.

"Then tell me," he practically begged. "I'm a fairly intelligent man, Regina. Complicated stories are usually something I can manage to comprehend."

"This isn't the time or place," she cut in, taking a step in his direction. "I have patients to see, and you need to get your son home and into bed."

His chest deflated at that, and he felt like the worst dad in the world for allowing his heartache over a woman he'd known a week interfere with his concern for his son. She seemed to sense this, God, she sensed too much about him, and she handed him a paper with instructions he couldn't quite make out at the moment.

"He's going to be fine," she assured him, her tone more personal than professional. "Regular fluids are the key. Pedialyte and Gatorade would be good to have on hand because he's likely to have little to no appetite for a few days. If he won't drink, give him popsicles. I used to have to do that with Henry." She smiled softly, her gaze moving to the dark curls splayed over his shoulder.

"So no Italian Cream Cake." His own words surprised him, as did the small smile that danced across her features as she stroked Roland's hair.

"If he feels good enough to ask for Italian Cream Cake, give it to him," she instructed. "Nonno and Marco's cooking might do wonders for him, especially if they can whip up a nice, healthy broth."

"You know those two," he muttered, unable to keep from smiling himself. "They'll deliver it by hand if it's for Roland."

"Yes," she breathed, looking up at him, seeing into him one glorious second before the mask of the physician slid back into place. "They would."

He knew the moment was gone, and he missed it already, that one brief moment of emotional intimacy enough to let him know that something was off here, terribly, terribly off. If only she'd let him know what the hell it was.

"Alternate Tylenol with Motrin every four hours until his fever breaks, but know that it's likely to continue to come back for several days. If his fever goes higher than 103, becomes unresponsive to medication or his symptoms linger for longer than five days, take him to his regular pediatrician to get him checked again." She paused once more, avoiding his eyes, weighing something carefully in her mind before she swallowed hard and met his gaze. "Or call me. I'm happy to check up on him any time."

His lips pressed together as he nodded, words pressing through dry lips before he could call them back.

"So you'll take my calls now?"

"Robin…" His name feathered over her lips, lips he wanted to kiss even as he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake the truth out of her.

"Sorry," he uttered. "That was unfair." He moved towards the curtain, preparing to take his leave when she reached out to touch his sleeve.

"No," she stated, her tone low and private. "It wasn't." Emotions he couldn't identify rolled over her features, but he was able to discern turmoil. It was palpable between them. "I'll take your calls and your texts," she continued. "I'm sorry for not answering them this week. It's just...things have been...things are…"

"Complicated. I get it."

They were standing close now, so close he could smell the sweet, floral scent of her hair mixed in with the strong odor of disinfectant. Her eyes were dark, her lips practically free of lipstick, and he saw then that she'd had a long, probably sleepless tenure here what with her taking on ER duties on top of her regular office hours and patients to help sick children. He wanted to comfort her, of all things, wanted to hold her to his chest, to kiss her forehead, to tell her that they'd work out whatever she thought was so tricky that it prompted her to run out the front door. But it stung, the rejection she'd served him up on a cold platter, so he stepped back instead, wondering if he'd actually call or text her, knowing he probably would because he was just that pathetic, wondering if she'd ever tell him the truth about what had scared her so badly.

Because she was scared of something between them. That much was obvious.

"Goodbye, Regina."

The words tasted bland on his tongue as his insides shut down, and he watched her flinch before her eyes fell and she nodded, accepting what she obviously interpreted as rejection in a manner that seemed practiced and well-used. She shouldn't get to him like this, shouldn't matter this much, but as he turned and walked out of the hospital, she was still with him in his head, in his heart, and he cursed once he had Roland buckled in securely, turning on the heat before slamming his hands against the steering wheel until his hands stung.

He couldn't know that she'd slid into the bathroom after he left and locked the door, that she'd cried as she hadn't cried in months, that she was cursing herself with the same ferocity as he just had, that her heart now lay in tatters around her feet but that she was too frightened to pick it up. He couldn't know that she went through the rest of the night as a robot, her emotions trailing behind her like a slip whose elasticity had broken, her scar throbbing even though it could generate no pain. He had no idea that his name was what she whispered when she finally fell into bed at 2:00 a.m., pulling the covers up to her chin and tracing the very scar that now stood between them. He couldn't know that they both thought of Marian and each other as they finally fell asleep. He couldn't know how badly she wanted to let herself fully trust him, fully love him, how she wanted to tell him everything yet feared his reaction too much. He couldn't know that she replayed their encounter over and over again in her mind as the minutes ticked by, wishing she'd handled it differently, wondering just what he thought of her now, knowing she'd probably never hear from him again, crying over the fact even though she thought it was for the best.

He only feared she'd just stepped out of his life forever, cursing himself and this bloody insomnia as the night's events held him hostage, knowing deep down that he'd never be able to get over what could have been.

* * *

 

Something was terribly wrong with his mom.

Henry knew that she'd worked longer hours than usual last night, which was disturbing in itself as hard as she worked anyway. That's why she'd let him spend the night with Aunt Mary Margaret and Uncle Dave, because she knew how late she'd be and wanted to make certain he got a good night's sleep. But she'd been upset by something earlier in the week, something he was sure had to do with Robin, the guy in the restaurant she'd liked, the one he'd known had liked her, too. She'd been a nervous wreck before their date, but she'd been a bigger wreck after it was over, and that wasn't okay with Henry, not one little bit. If Robin had hurt his mom, he wanted to let the guy have it.

He'd asked her several times what had happened, but all she'd say was that Robin was nice, but that they just weren't meant to be. She was a terrible liar, even though she thought she was really good at it, and Henry knew there was a lot more to it that she was letting on. Besides, if Robin was such a nice guy, how could she know that they weren't meant to be so quickly?

"She is acting weird," Mary Margaret had stated. "I agree with Henry, David. Something had to have happened with Robin."

"Okay," David had returned. "Let's say that something happened between them. It's still none of our business. If Regina doesn't want to talk about her love life, she shouldn't have to."

"Mom doesn't have a love life," Henry said. "You know that. This is the first date she's had since her surgery."

"And she needs to talk about it, David," Mary Margaret argued, patting Henry on the hand as he ate his bologna and cheese sandwich. "You know how Regina tends to keep things all bottled up inside of her until they eat her alive. A little nudging from her friends can't hurt."

"Yes," David returned. "It can. We should stay out of this, Mary Margaret." He paused, looking directly at Henry and pointing a finger in his direction. "And so should you."

Mary Margaret said nothing else, but she'd shot Henry a look that let him know that she had no intention of dropping it. Good. He had an ally. The two of them were now alone together at his house, chatting as Mary Margaret was slicing vegetables for a salad that would accompany the spaghetti that was boiling on the stove.

"Do you think she'll work as late tonight as she did last night?" Henry asked. Mary Margaret sighed, turning to look at him from her position by the kitchen counter.

"Who knows?" she returned. "Regina told me that last night she didn't get home until 1:30. Let's hope there are no more multi-car pile ups and that she can make it earlier tonight." He nodded, tapping his fingers on the counter.

"I think something happened last night, too, you know. Something personal." Mary Margaret paused, her eyes narrowing.

"You mean with Robin?" she asked. "Why do you think that? It could have just been a rough night with patients, Henry."

"Aunt Mary Margaret, I know my mom," Henry replied. "Something besides work was bothering her this morning, something she wouldn't talk about, and that makes me think it has to be about Robin."

He'd seen it in the way her shoulders drooped, in the way her eyes looked almost dead, had heard it in the flat tone of her voice. She'd had her hopes dashed, something she'd gotten used to as they'd waited and waited for a suitable heart to become available for her, and he couldn't let his mom go there again. She'd been a dark, lonely place for too long. The only person he'd seen lately who'd raised her hopes as far as they'd been raised earlier this week was Mr. Robin Locksley. Therefore, he had to have been the one who'd dashed them onto the ground.

"Crap," Mary Margaret muttered, raising her index finger to her mouth. "I cut myself. Where are the Band-Aids?"

"There are some in Mom's bathroom," Henry answered, already halfway up the stairs as he yelled back his answer."I'll bring them down."

He pushed open his mom's bedroom door, shaking his head at the clothes that had piled up in the corner. She hadn't left messes untended like this since right after her surgery. This wasn't a good sign. She'd come so far-they'd come so far, and he couldn't stand the thought of her drifting back into depression. He sighed as he walked towards the stack of dirty clothes, intending to put them in the hamper before he grabbed the box of Band-Aids. A paper fell out of a pocket, and he stared at it as he dropped the clothes, picking up the paper, his breath catching when he realized what it was.

It was a letter. _His_ letter. The one he'd written two years ago and sent to the family of the person whose heart his mother now had.

Why did his mom have it? How did she have it? He'd never even told her that he'd written it, had relied upon Mary Margaret to help him get it mailed so as not to upset his mom any further. There was no way she should have it, it had been mailed years ago, unless the family hadn't wanted it and had returned it, somehow, unless she'd met the family and had figured things out, unless...

Wait. Robin. Robin! His wife had died...wasn't it two years ago? Wasn't that what his mom had told him? Hadn't she revealed that the woman had been an organ donor, Robin's late wife, because Henry had then stated that that was a quite a coincidence, that Robin's family had helped someone just like someone had helped the two of them? His eyes flew open as the truth hit him like a bolt of lightning.

"Aunt Mary Margaret!" he yelled. "I know! I know what happened!" He dashed down the steps, the Band-Aids forgotten, stopping dead just in front of his very startled looking godmother.

"What's this?" she asked, plucking the paper from his fingers, her eyes widening as she took in the truth.

"It's my letter!" he replied. "The letter you helped me write. It was upstairs in mom's pants' pocket."

"But how?" she muttered, confusion still clouding what he'd already put together. "How did she…"

"Don't you see?" Henry asked. "She must have found it at Robin's house after their date, which would mean…"

"Oh my God," Mary Margaret breathed, her eyes doubling in diameter. "His wife. Regina's heart once belonged to Robin's dead wife!"

"Exactly!" Henry cried, jumping up in his excitement as Mary Margaret's hand rested on her slightly rounded stomach. "That's why she's been so upset. That's why she won't talk about what's been bothering her, because she thinks it's her fault. She always thinks it's her fault."

"Even when she's done nothing wrong," Mary Margaret uttered, dashing over to the oven and turning off the burner. "Come on, Henry. Get your coat." His heart sped up in his chest.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he slid on his navy beanie. Mary Margaret turned to face him, a determination he knew well enough to respect staring back at him through greener than green eyes.

"To L & M's Pub and Trattoria," she replied, scooping up both her car keys and her purse. "We need to find out if our theory is right, and to do that, we need to go straight to the source."

"And if it is?" Henry questioned, his brows slanting upward as they walked out the front door and down the front steps.

"Well," Mary Margaret smiled, her focus narrowing as they reached her car. "Then we're going to give your mom and Robin a good, hard nudge in the right direction, whether either of them or David wants us to or not."


	8. Chapter 8

"It's doesn't look crowded," Henry observed as they pulled into a parking place directly in front of the restaurant.

"It's three o'clock," Mary Margaret stated, switching off the ignition and taking a deep breath. "Not exactly prime time for either lunch or dinner." Henry nodded, feeling for the letter in his coat pocket, squeezing it harder than he probably should. He grabbed the car door handle and sat up as tall as he could manage.

"Let's do this," he said. "For my mom. She deserves a happy ending." Mary Margaret reached over and laid her hand on top of his, giving him a gentle squeeze, looking him directly in the eye.

"She does," she agreed. "But we can't guarantee that for her, Henry. All we can do is share what we know and try to find out the truth. What your mom and Robin decide to do about it is completely up to them. You know that, right?" He swallowed, squinting out the window at snow shining so brightly under the sun that it hurt his eyes. He wished he'd thought to bring his sunglasses.

"Yeah," he said, looking back at his godmother. "But we can at least give them a second chance."

"Yes," Mary Margaret said. "That we can do."

They climbed out of the car and shut their doors, moving to stand together on the sidewalk as they stared inside through the large windows. Henry clutched the letter again, letting it give him courage, even though he was unsure of what to expect when he actually showed it to Robin. How would Mr. Locksley react? Would he be sad? Angry? Is it possible he knew about his mom's heart already and that's what actually had caused them to break up?

"Henry," Mary Margaret called out from the door, her breath visible against the cold. "Come on. It's a lot warmer inside." She was right, so he jogged towards the building and through the front door. The restaurant wasn't empty, but it was far less crowded than it had been when they'd eaten there last week. The lasagna smelled great, and his stomach growled.

"I don't see him anywhere," Mary Margaret whispered, standing on tiptoe to look into the back room. "Do you?"

"No," Henry sighed, scanning the bar area, wondering if perhaps Robin was working in the kitchen. He had to be here somewhere, he just had to. Henry had to speak with him today, right now, before he lost his nerve and things between Robin and his mother only got worse.

"Henry? Is that you?" The voice startled him, and he turned to see one of his mother's colleagues sliding out of her booth and walking in his direction.

"Belle," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I just finished my shift, and I'm starving," Belle returned, still wearing her scrubs. "Things have been crazy at the hospital this week." Henry froze, glancing around the restaurant.

"Is she here? With you? My mom, I mean." She couldn't be here, not now. It would ruin the plan he and Mary Margaret had discussed on the way here.

"No," Belle answered. "She was checking on one of her patients when I left. Said she'd be a while." He shouldn't feel relieved that his mom was having to work later than usual, but it was for her own good, he reasoned, whether she would agree with him or not. "What are you two doing here?"

"Would you like a table?"

A man that Henry didn't recognize was standing in front of them, menus in hand. He was tall with a beard similar in shape and color to Robin's, making Henry wonder if the two of them were related.

"You two can sit with me, if you like," Belle stated, gesturing towards her booth. "I haven't had the chance to order yet."

"Thank you," Mary Margaret returned. "But we're not here to eat." The man raised his eyebrows, staring at Mary Margaret like she'd spoken in Chinese.

"Do you often come to restaurants when you don't plan to eat?" he asked. "Or is there something else I can help you with this afternoon?"

"We're here to see someone," Henry said, taking a step forward. "A guy named Robin."

"Robin Locksley?" the man asked. Henry nodded, feeling the letter in his pocket brush against his hand. "I'm sorry to tell you that he's not here at the moment."

"Oh," Henry said. His stomach sank down to his knees. "Will he be back soon? It's important that we see him." The man stared at him before looking at both Mary Margaret and Belle.

"His son is sick with the flu, so he's home with him," he answered. "He'll be out a couple of days, I'm afraid."

"Roland's sick?" Henry asked, his shoulders sagging even further.

"You know Roland?" the man questioned, opening his mouth to say something else when Belle cut in.

"I know Roland," she said. "At least, I think I do. I met a little guy named Roland last night at the ER who was diagnosed with the flu. I helped his father with his paperwork and got them situated in the peds area." She paused, looking up at August. "Is it the same Roland?"

"Curly black hair?" August questioned. "Four years old? About yea high?" He taped his hip, and Belle nodded.

"That's him," she stated. "So his dad works here? Small world."

"Wait!" Henry cried, turning to Mary Margaret. "Hold everything! That's where mom saw him, Aunt Mary Margaret! At the ER last night! It has to be, which was why…"

"Which was why she was acting off this morning," Mary Margaret continued. "Because she ran into Robin at the hospital!"

"This is all starting to make sense!" Henry exclaimed.

"What is starting to make sense?" the man questioned. "Because I'm more confused than ever." He inhaled, running his hand through his brown hair when his focus returned to Henry. "Wait-is Regina your mother?"

"Yes," Henry said. "Regina Mills. And Robin is your…"

"Cousin," the man explained. "Well, not by blood, but close enough. His late wife was my cousin. We've known each other for most of our lives."

"Wait," Belle said, shaking her head. "How do Regina and Roland fit together, exactly?"

"It's Regina and Robin we're concerned about," Mary Margaret returned, staring longingly at a plate of lasagna being delivered to a nearby table.

"Are they seeing each other?" Belle asked, looking from Henry to Mary Margaret. "Regina and Robin, I mean."

"Well, they were," the man answered, his gaze settling back on Henry. "Until she ran out on him and refused to take his calls."

"That doesn't sound like Regina," Belle stated, looking more confused than ever.

"It's complicated," Henry cut in, taking one step towards Belle. "And I think I know why she's been avoiding him, Mr...Mr…"

"August," the man stated, his curiosity obviously piqued. "So tell me, Henry. What's going on with your mom?"

"Perhaps we should sit down and discuss this," Belle proposed, laying a hand on Henry's arm. "I'm starving, and it looks like you could use something to eat, Mary Margaret." She paused, casting a somewhat shy glance at the man standing beside her. "You're welcome to join us, too, August. It sounds as if all of us want what's best for Regina and Robin." August swallowed, his cheeks turning pink as he exhaled and looked down at his watch.

"Well, I'm technically not working at the moment. I just stopped by to see if Dad and Alonzo needed any help since Robin had to take off today."

"So Robin is Roland's dad," Belle said as she led the way to her booth. "Yeah?"

"Yes," August answered, staring at Belle a bit longer than was necessary. "He's been raising him on his own since Marian died two years ago."

"Being a single parent is hard," Belle sighed as she slid into her seat. "Believe me, I know." August paused, clearing his throat

"You're a single parent?" he questioned as Henry slid into the booth across from Belle, making room for Mary Margaret beside him.

"Have been since my son was born," Belle returned. "A year and a half ago."

"So your divorce is final now?" Mary Margaret asked, adjusting herself as best as she could with her protruding belly.

"Finally," Belle returned with a smile. "And I have sole custody of Gideon and a restraining order to boot, so I'm free in every aspect."

"Thank God," Mary Margaret said, laying a hand on her stomach. "I'm glad to hear that."

"So am I," August uttered, shaking his head when he realized what he'd said. He was acting a little like Robin had acted when he'd first met Henry's mom. "Well, if you have a restraining order, I take it your son's dad…"

"Is a controlling, abusive jerk," Belle finished for him. "And someone I gave far too many chances to change his ways."

"Good riddance," Mary Margaret said, reaching her hand out and giving Belle's a squeeze.

"Let me grab everyone a drink and some bread before I sit down," August cut in. "What's everyone having?" He took their orders, and Belle watched him walk away before returning her attention to Mary Margaret and Henry.

"Alright," she began, staring at them quizzically. "What's going on? I didn't even know your mother was dating anyone."

"She hasn't been," Henry returned. "Until a week ago. That's when she met Robin here at his restaurant."

"So he owns this place?" Belle asked, giving August a smile of thanks when he returned with three waters and a Coke for Henry. Henry took a big sip, enjoying the way the bubbles burned going down his throat.

"Co-owns," August said. "His father opened this restaurant along with my dad and uncle when they were younger. Robin's dad passed away many years ago, so his father's share passed on to him." He rubbed his hands together and cleared his throat. "I'll go get everyone some bread." He moved back towards the kitchen as Henry took another drink of his Coke. His mom didn't like him to drink too many soft drinks, so he took advantage of it when he was out with Aunt Mary Margaret.

"He and mom hit it off right off the bat," Henry continued. "So well that they had a date that night. After she finished checking on a patient, I mean. She said Robin had a table set up for them in the back of the restaurant with dessert and everything."

"That's impressive," Belle stated. "Way to woo a lady. I wouldn't mind a private dinner after a late night at work." August set a basket full of breadsticks down in the middle of the table and passed out silverware and napkins before sitting down beside Belle.

"They seemed perfect for each other," Mary Margaret added. She took a breadstick, taking a big bite and closing her eyes in appreciation. "I'm actually hungrier than I thought I was."

"So am I," Belle stated, taking a breadstick for herself and biting into it with gusto. "Oh my God," she muttered, looking appreciatively at August. "Did you make these?"

"My dad," August replied with a shrug that tried to look nonchalant but failed. He was so into Belle that Henry wanted to roll his eyes and tell him to ask her out already. But today wasn't about Belle and August. It was about his mom and Robin.

"They might be perfect for each other," Henry said, getting his thoughts back on track. "I haven't seen my mom as happy as she was last weekend when she was getting ready for their second date."

"She was also a nervous wreck," Mary Margaret added, taking another bite of bread. "I had to talk her out of cancelling. You would have thought it was her first date ever."

"Robin was the same way," August said. "Like a teenager with a huge crush. Regina was the first woman he'd really noticed since Marian died, and he nearly burned his house down trying to impress her with his cooking."

Belle shook her head.

"So what happened?" she asked. "Was the date a disaster?"

"Not at first," August answered. "At least, according to Robin. He said they were getting along great, that everything just fit together like it was meant to be until…" He paused, staring down at his own glass.

"Until what?" Belle prodded. August cast a quick glance at Henry before clearing his throat and taking a big drink of his water.

"Until he got up to make breakfast," he replied, watching as Belle and Mary Margaret caught on to his meaning. "And Regina ran out the front door without looking back."

"It's okay, August," Henry said. "I figured she spent the night there."

"Henry!" Mary Margaret uttered, looking pretty shocked.

"What?" he asked. "I stayed over with you and Uncle Dave that night. I figured we were all giving her some space. I'm not five anymore, Aunt Mary Margaret."

"I know," she returned with a big sigh. "But still."

"That's not like Regina, running out like that," Belle sighed, tearing off another piece of bread. "She's not a person who avoids confrontation."

"Something had to have upset her," Henry stated, watching as the adults conceded his point. "And I think I know what that was." He pulled the letter out of his coat pocket, once again drawing courage from it as he handed it to August, watching the man's expression carefully as he unfolded it and read its contents.

"Where did you get this?" August asked, allowing Belle to look over his shoulder and read it for herself. "This belongs to Robin."

"I knew it!" Henry exclaimed, turning excitedly to Mary Margaret who smiled back at him. "I knew it had to be his!"

"Why do you have this?" August asked again, looking more confused than ever.

"I found it in my mom's pocket," Henry explained. "She must have taken it from Robin's house."

"Why would she do that?" August questioned. Henry looked directly at him, taking a deep breath and letting out slowly.

"Because I wrote it," he replied, watching as August and Belle began to comprehend what he was saying. "I'm the kid in that letter. The person who has Marian's heart is my mom."

"Oh my God," Belle muttered as August rubbed a palm over his beard. "That's...that's…"

"Unbelievable," August stated, leaning forward on his elbows. "You're saying your mom ran out on Robin because she discovered she has Marian's heart?"

"She would have recognized my handwriting," Henry said. "And she's felt guilty ever since her transplant."

"But why?" Belle asked. "That transplant saved her life."

"Because someone else had to die in order for her to live," Mary Margaret answered. "She was in a funk over it for months after her transplant, if you remember. And just when she was finally starting to let herself feel like a whole woman again and truly live…"

"She finds out the heart she has belonged to her new lover's late wife," August interrupted, shaking his head. "Christ. This is complicated, really complicated. But it explains a lot."

"That's why we're here," Henry said. "If Robin is anywhere near as miserable as my mom is right now, we have to get them together to talk."

"Unless he already knows," Mary Margaret added after swallowing her bread. "And that's what caused this problem between them."

"I'm sure he doesn't," August stated. "Because he's a confused mess right now. He's already half in love with your mom, Henry, and has been devastated over the fact that she won't talk to him. He's been a wreck all week."

"So has she," " Henry claimed, setting down his Coke. "I think she's half in love with him, too, but she's too afraid of how he'll react when he finds out about her heart to tell him the truth."

"This is a mess," Belle said. "Does anyone have an idea of how we should proceed?"

"We?" Mary Margaret asked, grinning at Belle. "Are you joining in our little scheme?"

"Of course I am," Belle stated, casting a glance at her watch. "Ruby can stay with Gideon until 6:00 if I need her to, so I'm in if you'll have me."

"Of course we'll have you," Henry exclaimed. "Won't we, August?" He watched as the older man swallowed, turning a light shade of pink before he downed the rest of his water.

"Of course," August replied, tossing a grin in Belle's direction as he exhaled through his nose. "But how are we supposed to help these two idiots get back to each other if neither of them are here?"

"Can't we go to one of them?" Belle asked. "Regina should be off of work in another hour or so."

"I think we should talk to Robin first," Henry stated. "My mom will deny everything and clam up if we start with her."

"Okay," August said, laying his palms on the table. "Let's say we go to Robin's. This isn't exactly something we want Roland to overhear. The thought of his mommy's heart in someone else's body would be hard for him to comprehend."

"I agree," Belle stated. "It might spook him. I could watch Roland if Robin will let me. I can't be any more exposed to the flu than I already have been at the hospital."

"I was with Roland right before he got sick," August added. "I'm sure I've been exposed, too, so I can help."

"I probably shouldn't go in the house," Mary Margaret said, laying a protective hand over her belly. "I mean…"

"By no means are you to go in that house," Belle insisted. "We don't need you to get sick in your condition."

"And I'll talk to Robin," Henry said. "I'm the one who wrote the letter in the first place, and I've had my flu shot. Mom made sure of that. Besides-he can't get that angry at a kid." The adults grew quiet, nodding in agreement one by one.

"So if Belle and I agree to watch Roland, it leaves Robin free to go see Regina if he decides to do that," August stated. "After Henry breaks the news to him."

"He might prefer time alone to process all of this," Mary Margaret countered. "I mean, it is a lot of information to swallow at one time, and we are talking about his wife's heart."

"And my mom's life," Henry added. "And both of their futures," Belle stated with a sigh.

"I really hope this is something both of them are able to get past."

"So do I," August said. "Robin's an amazing guy, and he deserves a second chance at love."

"So does Regina," Mary Margaret said. "Life hasn't exactly been easy on her. We all just want her to be happy."

"Then let's do this," Henry stated, grinning from ear to ear as a server brought out a family tray of lasagna with four plates and set it down in front of them. Mary Margaret inhaled, closing her eyes to absorb the aroma as Belle rubbed her hands together in anticipation. "After we eat, of course."

* * *

 

Robin, it turned out, lived just a few streets away from the restaurant in a modest, red brick townhouse. Mary Margaret parked as close to his front door as she could, looking back at Henry who was sitting in the back seat with Belle.

"You ready for this?" she asked, reaching back to squeeze his hand as he nodded.

"I'm ready," he stated, grinning as Belle tossed him a reassuring wink. "Operation Broken Heart is now underway."

"Operation Broken Heart?" August questioned as they stepped out of the car onto the sidewalk.

"Yeah," Henry said. "My mom had a broken heart for most of her life, and now that she finally has a healthy one, it's been broken again."

"It sounds like Robin's has been, too," Belle stated, moving to stand beside them. "And the very operation that saved your mom's heart is now cracking it back open."

"Operation Broken Heart it is, then," August said, walking towards the front steps and rubbing his hands together. "Let's just hope they're both repairable."

Henry paused, looking up at the sky, all drab and gray, and he wondered if it reflected how his mom felt inside. She'd been through so much, had worked so hard to heal so many people, and it was time for her to heal, time for her heart to truly feel at home in her chest, time for her to stop feeling guilty for being alive. He only hoped that Robin would feel the same way.

August knocked on the front door and Henry stood behind him, trying to talk his heart into slowing down. He clutched the letter in his pocket, holding onto it for courage as he looked back towards the car, receiving a thumbs up and a smile from Mary Margaret who was still sitting in the driver's seat. Yes. He could do this. He had to do this. For his mom.

He heard footsteps making their way towards them from the inside of the house, and he nearly jumped out of his shoes when the door opened. Robin stood in front of them, wearing gray sweatpants and a Boston College hoodie, looking as worn out as his mom had this morning.

"August," he muttered, running a hand over his head as his gaze moved from Henry to Belle and back to his cousin. "What's going on?"

"May we come in, Robin?" August asked. "And we'll explain everything." Robin eyed them one second longer then stepped backwards, gesturing them all inside.

"I don't know if you remember me or not," Belle began, taking off her hood. "But we met at the ER last night. I'm Belle." She stuck out her hand, and Robin shook it as she smiled.

"You're a nurse," he said, comprehension dawning. "The one that helped get us back into the pediatric area last night. Thank you for that."

"My pleasure," Belle added. "How is Roland doing?"

"About the same," Robin replied with a shrug. "He's sleeping now, actually. But I doubt you're here on a house call, especially when you're accompanied by my oaf of a cousin and young Mr. Mills here." Blue eyes stared straight at him, then, and Henry tried to smile, reminding himself of exactly why he was here and of what all was at stake.

"Hi, Mr. Locksley," he said, sticking his own hand out just as Belle had done. Robin took his hand and shook it, giving him a look that Henry couldn't quite make out.

"Henry came to the restaurant looking for you," August cut in, claiming Robin's attention for himself. "He has something that belongs to you, actually, and wanted to return it." Robin stepped towards him then, obviously confused.

"Something of mine?" he asked. "I don't understand." Henry breathed in, trying to find just the right words.

"That's a conversation the two of you need to have," August said, casting an encouraging smile in Henry's direction. He then laid his hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, and Henry felt better, knowing that he had three different adults cheering him on. "Belle and I can keep an ear out for Roland in case he wakes up while you talk."

Robin stared at the other man and finally nodded, watching as August laid his hand on Belle's back and guided her towards the family room. He then returned his focus to Henry, motioning him the kitchen for a bit of privacy. Henry squeezed the letter tight as he followed Robin, breathing a silent prayer that Mr. Locksley would hear what he had to say with an open heart.

"Thanks for agreeing to see me," Henry began. Robin leaned against a counter a crossed his arms over his chest as he shrugged. His beard was thicker than Henry remembered, probably because he'd had no time to shave with a sick kid, and he looked really, really tired. "I know things haven't been so good between you and my mom this week."

"That's a bit of an understatement," Robin stated with a sigh. "Listen, Henry, I don't know what your mother has told you…"

"Nothing, basically," Henry interrupted. "At least, nothing about the two of you. She's just been really upset this week, well, ever since the day after your date." Robin blew air out of his mouth, rubbing the back of his neck before looking back at him.

"That makes two of us," Robin said. "I promise you, Henry, if I did or said anything to upset her, it was completely unintentional…"

"I know you didn't," Henry cut in. "That's why I'm here, actually." Robin's eyes narrowed, and Henry wondered just what he was thinking. "I'm pretty sure I figured out what's bothering her so much, why she's been so sad and quiet."

Okay. He had the man's full attention now.

"I'm listening," Robin said, sliding his hands into his pockets just as Henry pulled the letter he'd been clenching out of his. His palm was sweaty, his mouth as dry as sand as he extended the paper in Robin's direction, reminding himself that it was important to breathe.

"Go ahead," Henry said, his chin quivering. "Take it." The room felt hot all of a sudden, and he thought about taking off his coat as Robin stepped forward. He touched the letter before taking it from him, gazing back at Henry slack-jawed as he realized what it was.

"Where did you?" he began, pausing to catch his breath. "How did you get this?" Henry swallowed hard, forcing himself to look Robin in the eye.

"I found it today," he answered. "In my mom's pants' pocket."

"But…" Robin stammered, staring from the letter back to Henry. "I don't understand. Why would Regina...this makes no sense...I don't...do you know what this bloody letter says?" The man looked tortured, his face nearly as white as Henry's sneakers.

"I know exactly what it says," Henry returned, filling his lungs with air. He touched the letter, clearing his throat as tears began to sting his eyes. "Because that's me."

"What?"

Robin's breath seemed frozen, chilling Henry to the bone. The letter pulsed between them as if it were a living thing.

"That's me," Henry repeated, wiping his cheek. His throat was thick, and it was hard to talk, but he blinked back more tears, reminding himself again that this was for his mom. "The kid in this letter, the one thanking you for saving his mom's life. It's me, Mr. Locksley. I'm the one who wrote this."

"You?" He was whispering, blinking even faster than Henry was, shaking his head as if trying to put what he'd just heard into some sort of logical order. He was silent a moment, and Henry made himself stand still and wait, even though he wanted to run out of the room. "Wha...what are you saying? You mean...you…" Robin looked as if he'd been slapped, and he stepped backwards, staring from the letter back to Henry and back to the letter again.

"I wrote that letter," Henry continued, gulping back fresh tears. "Two years ago, right after my mom had a heart transplant." He swallowed, wishing for a big drink of water. "Last weekend when we were celebrating at your restaurant, it was because it had been two years since her transplant. We called it her second birthday."

"Your mom," Robin whispered, looking like a man in a trance. "Regina. Her birthday." He was stroking the letter now, rubbing his thumbs over the paper, making it rattle in the process.

"Mary Margaret helped me," Henry continued. "Mom didn't know anything about the letter. She felt guilty about having somebody else's heart, but I wanted to thank the family who let her have it, because...because…" He paused, unable to fight back more tears as he remembered how scared he'd been when they'd taken her into surgery. She could have died that day, all too easily, and he'd have had no one who loved him like she did, who'd chosen him to be her very own after another woman had given him away. "Because she would have died," he managed, wiping his eyes and face. "I wouldn't have a mom at all if they…if you hadn't…"

Robin slumped against the stove, dropping the letter to his side.

"She has...Regina has…" Robin began, swallowing hard. A tear slid down his own cheek, and he let it fall, staring back at Henry as he finally understood. "She has Marian's heart." For several seconds, the only sounds in the kitchen were those of sniffing and quiet sobs. "That's what you're trying to tell me, isn't it?"

Henry nodded, wiping his cheeks furiously, trying to pull himself together.

"I think she found the letter," he managed. "Somewhere here. She knows my handwriting, and…" Robin exhaled loudly, crying unashamedly as he bit his lower lip.

"That's why she left," he said, staring at the letter. "Why she ran. Oh, God." His hands were shaking as badly as Henry's legs.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Henry said, sniffing to clear his nose. Robin grabbed a paper towel and handed to him, and he wiped his face before blowing his nose.

"I know, Henry. It was very brave of you to come here today." His voice was so soft it was hard to hear, and Henry searched for a trash can to throw away the paper towel, finding one to his right.

"I did it for my mom. She tries to be so strong for everybody else, especially me, but sometimes she needs a little help" Robin stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder just like August had done, giving it a firm squeeze. His eyes were red and wet now, but he held on to Henry and nodded.

"She's lucky to have you," Robin said with a tight smile.

"I'm lucky to have her," Henry stated. "I know it had to be really hard to lose your wife, and I'm really sorry you did," he gushed, his chin trembling again. "But thanks for saving my mom's life, Mr. Locksley. Thanks for giving her back to me."

He was pulled into a hug then, and he wrapped his arms around Robin, holding on to him when the man began to sob. Henry had never seen a man really cry before, but he knew somehow that this was important, that these tears had to happen in order for all of them to move forward. Mr. Locksley's body shook, and Henry held onto him all the tighter, figuring that if Robin had been just as broken as his mom, he needed someone to help him, too. He'd never been hugged like this by a man, and he found that he liked it, that Robin's arms felt safe and protective, kind of the way Uncle Dave's arms felt, but different. More like what Henry had always thought a dad's hug would feel. He wondered if his mom had felt safe here with Robin and understood why she'd be sad to give him up.

And while he stood there in Mr. Locksley's kitchen, being held by the man who'd saved his mom's life, he let himself cry, too.

 


	9. Chapter 9

he kitchen floor was cold. Thank God Robin was too numb to notice how uncomfortable it was or to worry about how his lower back would ache tomorrow when he forced himself to get out of bed. No. Numb wasn't the right word. That would imply that he felt nothing, and that wasn't true, not in the slightest. The problem was that he felt too much.

His body had shut down, as if it had overheated while trying to absorb too much information at once or was trying to reboot with a system update gone horribly wrong. One moment he'd been rubbing his arms, trying to stop his skin from sliding off of his bones, reminding himself that he couldn't leave Roland alone no matter how badly he wanted to run out into the frigid air and scream until he was hoarse. The next he'd plopped down on the tile, his back propped against his stove as everything around him seemed to freeze in time and place, including his insides. The woman he was falling in love with was alive because his dead wife's heart beat inside her body. Of all the things Robin ever anticipated having to deal with, this assuredly wasn't one of them.

How did one process this? What was the right response? Was he supposed to shun one woman because she lived while another had died? Would embracing a chance at happiness mean dishonoring the memory of the woman whose death had made it possible?

_Marian_. Her name pulsed a steady tattoo against his temples, and he closed his eyes, summoning up images of the woman he'd loved over half of his life, one who'd given him a son he loved with every bone in his body, a woman who'd been taken from him unfairly and left him to raise their child on his own. He stared at his hands for no reason, hands that had held and loved two women, wondering what to make of all of this, of the fact that another child raised by a single parent was the one who'd written him that letter, that bloody letter that had just turned his world upside down.

It had been Henry. Henry Mills was the child who'd thanked him for saving his mother's life, who'd felt the need to reach out to the person who'd helped ensure that he hadn't been left an orphan. It had been Henry Mills who'd benefited from his rather befuddled decision to donate Marian's organs because he knew that's what she would have wanted, Henry Mills who'd been given back his mother because of that action, the only parent he'd ever had. Marian's heart had saved his mother-Regina Mills, pediatrician, adoptive mother, single parent, child advocate, new lover, bruised soul.

Regina. God, Regina.

His arms almost hurt with the need to hold her, yet his heart cinched at the thought. What did it say about him that he was relieved she lived when the only reason her heart still beat was because Marian hadn't needed it anymore? Was he betraying his wife's memory if he allowed himself to pursue a relationship with the woman cradling her heart in her chest? Would he see two pairs of deep brown eyes whenever he gazed into one? Would their tastes and textures mingle? Would a ghost take up residence where uncertainty now dwelled? Would he be making love to two women as he broke apart and spilled out into one?

Was he losing his fucking mind?

He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his beard, reminding himself that he needed a shave even as he knew he wouldn't touch a razor today. He needed to see her-Regina-to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her….to tell her what, exactly? What the hell was he supposed to say when he didn't know how to feel? How was he supposed to comfort her when he feared that doing so would be a betrayal of his marriage vows? He was thankful Roland was sleeping, then cursed himself for taking advantage of the fact that his son was sick. What sort of shit dad was he, anyway, sitting here, worrying about his love life when his boy was upstairs battling a fever?

He jumped at the soft knock on the door, startled back into the present. How long had he been sitting here, he suddenly wondered. Robin adjusted his sweats as he stood, rubbing a hand over his hair, hoping neither his breath nor body stank as he paused to clear his throat before opening the door. Before him stood Alonzo, holding a silver pot.

"Soup," the older man stated. "For you and Roland." Robin stood there, mutely staring at his father-in-law before shaking himself out of his stupor and motioning Alonzo inside. The cold followed him through the front door, chilled air stinging Robin's face, a sensation he welcomed before he closed the door and locked it.

"You didn't have to do this," Robin stated as he followed Alonzo into the kitchen. How had he missed the fact that the older man's hobble had become more pronounced, that he favored his left leg over his right, that his spine seemed to curve inward at a more inclined angle than he had remembered? But the man's smile was as bright as ever, completely in sync with dark eyes he'd passed on to his daughter and grandson, and he fastened them directly on Robin after setting the pot on the stove.

"Chicken and gnocchi," he stated, touching the lid. "And you know I had to. It's Roland's favorite."

"Thank you," Robin said, doing his best to smile, failing miserably. His voice was hoarse, ragged, even, and he cleared his throat. "Would you like something to drink?" Alonzo stepped forward, reaching into his worn, khaki overcoat's inside pocket and pulling out a small bottle of Woodford Reserve.

"I brought you something to drink," the older man said, placing the bottle in Robin's hands. "I thought you could use it." Robin stared at the bourbon, craving its burn before setting it on the counter and looking back at his father-in-law. That's when he saw it. That's when he knew.

"August told you?" The question tumbled out over his lips, the words chilled and uncertain.

"About Marian's heart?" Alonzo asked, touching Robin's shoulder when the younger man nodded. "Yes, mio figlio. He told me."

Tears pushed against his eyelids again, and he swallowed hard, trying his hardest not to break down yet again as Alonzo guided him wordlessly into the family room. He wiped his cheek, doing his best to remain quiet and not wake Roland, but self-control eluded him when they finally sat down on the couch and the older man put his arm over his shoulders. Something cracked open inside of him, something dark and misshapen, and he sobbed freely then, unable to help himself as Alonzo gathered him to his chest and comforted him the same way his father would have done when he was younger.

"Let it out," Alonzo whispered, cupping Robin's head as if he were a boy. "It's alright. It needs to come out of you, all of this grief. It only hurts you by staying inside."

It poured out of him as if a dam had been broken, all the grief and guilt he'd been keeping at bay for longer than he could remember, guilt for not being the one behind the wheel, for sometimes forgetting the sound of Marian's voice, for wishing he could let go and move on even as he did his best to make certain her son never forgot her. Guilt for surviving when she-the better one of the two of them-had died. Guilt for craving the kisses of another woman, one who'd run out of this very house when she'd realized she carried a part of his late wife inside her body, guilt for needing to make love to that woman right now to somehow drive out the inner demons tearing both of them apart.

Alonzo absorbed it freely, rocking him, holding him, giving him permission to feel emotions he couldn't begin to label. He didn't know how long they sat there, only knew that he felt both drained and cleansed when the tears finally stopped and his breathing began to even out. He blinked repeatedly, surprised to see that Alonzo had been crying, too, and he drew back from him then, taking the older man's hand within his own and giving it a squeeze.

"Thank you," he muttered, his words barely audible. "I know this can't be easy on you, either." Alonzo shook his head then, squeezing Robin's hand in return.

"That's where you're wrong, figlio," Alonzo returned, his eyes still wet. "I'm now more at peace than I have been since our Marian died." Robin sucked in a breath, his eyes widening at the older man's revelation. "You're surprised?" Alonzo asked. "You shouldn't be, you know. Knowing that my daughter's heart lives on, that it gave another little boy his mother back, and that that mother is a good woman with so much love to give that Marian's heart feels at home in her chest...yes, it gives me incredible peace. It's exactly what she would have wanted."

He swallowed again, shaking his head, trying to process.

"I'm glad for that, too," Robin managed, withdrawing his hand to rub his face. "And I know...I know she'd approve of Regina, that she'd be happy that Henry still has his mother, that she'd want her heart to give another mother life, but…" He paused, seeking words that wouldn't come.

"But…" Alonzo prompted gently. "What's troubling you so much?" Robin exhaled through his mouth, blowing out air in place of words.

"It's...I…," he began, shaking his head in frustration. "Can I love them both, Papi? Am I being unfair to Regina or unfaithful to Marian if I do?" Alonzo smiled before inhaling sharply.

"You haven't called me Papi in years, you know," he said, eliciting a small smile from Robin. "I didn't realize how much I missed it until now." He then paused, looking up at the wedding photo that hung on the wall, the one Regina had stared at nearly a week ago when she'd come over for their date. Marian smiled down on both of them, looking radiant, beautiful, and so very much alive that it hurt. "As for your question, I can't answer that for you, figlio. Only you can know the answer to that."

Robin chuckled, casting Alonzo a wry look.

"Some help you are, old man," he said, making Alonzo laugh out loud.

"I prefer Papi, thank you," he stated before looking back up at the picture of his daughter. "Robin, if you need my permission to love Regina, you have it, you know. You also have Frankie's, Marco's and August's. We all want nothing more than for you and Roland to be happy." His chest tightened, and he gazed into the eyes of the first woman he'd ever loved as he stood and walked directly to the photograph, touching the frame, stroking her face through slick, cool glass.

"What about hers? Do I have her permission?" His breath was weighted as he considered his own question, and he wished she could speak to him, that she could tell him face to face that it was alright for him to move on, to pursue Regina, to love the woman who now carried her heart within her ribs. He heard Alonzo's uneven shuffle behind him, felt the man's soothing presence at his right side.

"What do you think?"

He could smell her then, the almond scented lotion she so adored filling his senses in a way it hadn't since her passing. It caressed him, engulfed him, wrapped him up in a past life he'd treasured before vanishing just as quickly as it had arrived. His palm flattened against the glass as tears filled his eyes once again, forcing him to swallow and breathe.

"She'd want me to move on, to find love again." The words tasted both bitter and sweet, like spun sugar mixed with fresh lemons, like the promise of spring.

"Yes," Alonzo agreed. "She would." He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the present as the past prickled his skin.

"She'd approve of Regina," Robin continued, his brow creasing at the realization. "And of Henry."

"I agree," Alonzo said. "I think our Marian and Regina could have been great friends had they ever met." Robin smiled at this, thinking how odd it felt to consider both women breathing in the same lifetime. But they had-they did. One had just been taken away sooner than the other. "You know," Alonzo continued. "I am remembering how long you and Marian loved each other, how you found each other at such a young age. And then, just how quickly you were attracted to Regina, how there was just something about her you had to know." Alonzo paused, looking at Robin directly, his dark eyes sincere. "I am thinking that this heart-Marian's heart, now Regina's heart-that it was designed just for you, that it's connected to your own heart in some way, like they're two halves of a whole. Perhaps they're soulmates."

A small laugh escaped him as the power of Alonzo's words took root. Something popped then began to grow inside his chest, a warmth, a certainty, a sliver of hope that started to burn with possibility and promise. He looked back up at the photograph, at his younger self, at his wife, seeing a blessing in her eyes he'd never before noticed.

"Thank you," he whispered, feeling her again, understanding that moving on didn't mean losing this beautiful piece of his past. Marian's memory would always be a part of him, a beautiful, strong part that fastened him together and urged him to enjoy every aspect of life that he could. Life had never been easy for her, yet she'd embraced it through the pain, through the bad spells, had flourished both because of and in spite of her lupus. She'd taught him how to live, had made him a father, and would certainly be pushing him out the door right now if she were standing here beside him.

_Go_ , she would have said with that half-smile of hers that had always enchanted him. _Get out there and live, Birdbrain_. He laughed as her voice echoed in his mind, as the nickname she'd given him when he first tried to kiss her sang in his memory, as her touch reverberated through bone and marrow.

"What do I say to her?" Robin asked, his mind clawing out of its muddled state into a brilliance that was somewhat frightening.

"To Regina?" Alonzo smiled back at him, patting him on the back as a tear trickled down his cheek. "That's easy," the older man stated. "Just tell her whatever is in your heart."

* * *

 

Her feet hurt. Regina slid her low heels off of her feet and massaged her toes, making a mental note to herself that tomorrow she was wearing her Go Walks, regardless of whether they matched her outfit or not. Her lower back grumbled as she made her way to the sofa and plopped down on top of it, too weary to think about eating even though she knew she'd skipped lunch. The truth was food wasn't all that appealing at the moment. An unexpected encounter with a certain, bearded gentleman had left her stomach uneasy and her nerves on edge.

_An explanation would be lovely, too._

The words echoed in her head as his face played across her memory, his blue eyes ablaze, his expression tight. He'd been angry-angry and hurt, and God, she couldn't blame him, not one iota. She'd run out on him without a word right after they'd made love, giving him neither an explanation nor a true apology. She'd even been too much of a coward to answer his texts or calls, and now even those had stopped. He had every right to be angry. Christ, she was angry with herself. Her hands reached for her cell phone, and she withdrew it from her pocket, staring at the screen, clicking on his name, fingers trembling as she considered sending him a text. But her mind froze, and words escaped her, fleeing into a world that was far less complicated than the one in which she was living.

_Goodbye, Regina._

His words still hammered inside her skull, making her ache all over, making her long for a man who deserved the woman he'd lost, not her. She was a poor substitute, and she knew it. She was weak. She was second best. Yet she was the one who lived because inside her chest beat Marian's heart. Marian: Robin's dead wife. Roland's mother. It was that woman, the one who'd been everything to the man she was half-in love with, the one who'd given him Roland. She'd been the one who'd had to die in order for her to live. How the hell was she supposed to tell him that? How was she supposed to handle the way he would look at her? The disgust and disappointment? The outrage? The outright rejection she knew would follow? She couldn't-she wasn't strong enough.

Her mother had told her as much all her life, that she was damaged, broken and weak. But Regina had rebelled against the notion of weakness, had balked at it, swatted at it, had shoved it as far away from her life as she could manage. But in times like this, when she felt naked and vulnerable, when her chest felt like a traitorous cavern, the words pushed back, like a hot air balloon inflating at far too rapid a pace and forcing her into a wall.

_Weakness is unattractive. Weakness is a defect. Why don't you just accept your life as it is and make the best of it?_

She'd done the opposite of accepting limitations, however. She'd defied her heart condition, had gone to medical school, had finished head of her class, had adopted a son when her own parents questioned her sanity in doing so, and through that adoption she'd found a love like none she'd ever known, a love that bloomed inside of her and pushed her to keep going even when she'd felt like giving up. Henry was her everything. Henry was her life. If only she'd left things as they were. She should have been satisfied simply being a doctor and a mom. Things had been fine before Mr. Blue Eyes and Dimples had shown up in her life and made her tingle in places she'd nearly forgotten. She should have fought her attraction to Robin, should have turned him down when he asked her out, should have never let herself kiss him, touch him, talk to him, or undress him and taste his skin. She shouldn't have opened her legs to his mouth, shouldn't have taken him inside her body, shouldn't have allowed him to come inside of her, shouldn't have allowed herself to come on his tongue. But she had, and now a part of her was his forever, a part she could never get back even though he had already probably discarded it as a worthless piece of garbage. He'd imprinted himself on her very soul leaving marks she wanted to trace and memorize just as he'd done her scar.

God, she missed him. She missed what she could never have.

Hunger began to claw at her, and she knew she should eat, so she pushed herself off of the couch and into her kitchen. It was then she noticed the half prepared salad that had been left sitting on the counter and a pot of cold spaghetti left unattended on the stove. She looked around, wondering just where Henry and Mary Margaret had gone, noticing the house was unusually silent. Mary Margaret was always methodical about cleaning up, and a stab of fear sliced into her as she called out their names to no avail. Her phone vibrated then, and she nearly cried in relief as Mary Margaret's name flashed in her notifications.

_Henry and I decided to get some ice cream. Cravings happen at the oddest times these days._

She laughed in relief.

_They must. You forgot to put away the spaghetti and salad. Tell Henry a two scoop minimum._

She hit _send_ before dumping the noodles into the garbage disposal, checking her new message as she closed the refrigerator door.

_Sorry about that! I'll buy you some more pasta if it's ruined._

Regina leaned against the counter, her stomach prompting her to open the fridge and search for something for herself. She pulled out some leftover chicken and rice before moving to get a plate and answering Mary Margaret.

_No need. We have plenty._

Before she could set the phone down, another text popped up.

_Henry wants to know if he can join me and David for an early movie. We're planning on taking in the 7:10 showing of Zootopia. Okay with you?_

Regina raised her eyebrows, fatigue battling with her need to see her son as she texted her answer.

_That's fine. Just no sodas since he's having ice cream._

She envisioned her son rolling his eyes at this, and she smiled, hoping they would have a good night out, knowing that the company of his godparents would be far better than her own tonight. But that meant she was going to be alone with her thoughts, and that wasn't a pleasant prospect, not in the least, so she tossed her plate into the microwave before popping open a bottle of Malbec and pouring herself a generous glass. The wine tasted like heaven, smooth and rich, warming her empty stomach instantly as it made its way down her throat. She sighed in contentment and took another drink, knowing she really needed to eat something so one glass of wine wouldn't have her completely snockered. But she stood there, taking sip after sip until her glass was empty and her body felt pleasantly fuzzy and weighted. Regina welcomed the buzz, the way it made her insides tingle and her thoughts just a little bit easier to stomach. She pulled her plate out of the microwave and set it on the counter, instantly popping a piece of chicken in her mouth before deciding on impulse to put on her pajamas before allowing herself to eat any more. She'd revel in her own private misery tonight, would drench it in wine and feed it with _Breyer's_ Vanilla Bean, would try to lose it in a rewatch of _While You Were Sleeping_ while snuggling under her favorite quilt.

She removed her makeup and her bra, glibly tossing the latter into the clothes hamper, realizing what a pathetic mess she'd made of her bedroom. This wasn't like her-she knew this, and she closed her eyes as she slid on her favorite pair of flannels and pulled on thick, fuzzy socks, promising herself that she'd straighten things up tomorrow. Just because her personal life had come apart at the seams didn't mean her bedroom had to look far worse than Henry's.

It was then that her doorbell rang.

Her son must have forgotten something, she mused, and she tried to figure out just what he'd come all the way home to fetch as she made her way down the stairs. He had his phone, she was certain of that, and if he needed money, Mary Margaret and David would take care of him until she could pay them back. She unlatched the chain and opened her front door, her breath hitching in her chest as a half-formed question froze on her tongue.

"Robin." His name fell from her lips before she could stop it, and she stood there, frozen in time, staring at him as he stood on her doorstep, hands in his coat pockets, his cheeks red from the cold. "What are you….what are you doing here?" He took a step towards her as snow flurried around him. His breath formed an odd sort of halo around his head, and as he drew nearer, she saw that he'd been crying. "Oh, God," she asked, her heart constricting. "Is Roland okay?"

"Yes," he assured her, his tone deep and raw. "Roland's fine. He's at home resting." She nodded as her body began to shiver, and she clutched the door, wondering just what she should say next. "I'm not here because of Roland," he added, looking at her in a manner she couldn't read. Her mind ran in circles, making her dizzy as she stood there gaping at him.

"Oh?"

The word left her unbidden, and her gaze followed it to his face, all blotched from cold and recently shed tears. He could break her, this man, would probably do so tonight if he'd come to demand answers from her.

"I'm here to talk to you." Her stomach cinched, and she tried to swallow. "Regina," he said, his chin quivering. "Can I come in? Please?"

She nodded before she could think better of it, standing back to let him inside. The cold radiated off of him as he stomped snow off of his boots onto her rug before pulling them off of his feet. He set them beside the line of shoes by the door, looking to her to make certain he was doing the right thing.

"I'll take your coat," she said, the sense of him overwhelming as he took off his coat and extended it in her direction. He wore a muted green Henley, one that accentuated his muscles, muscles she knew intimately, ones she'd kissed and caressed, ones that had held her tightly as she'd cracked open around him. She breathed in and out, willing her hands not to tremble as she hung his coat on a hook and turned to face him. He hadn't shaved since last night, and he looked tired as his hands slid into his jean pockets.

"We need to talk," he said, and she closed her eyes, his words weaving around her in a gentle vice.

"I know." Her heart thudded in her chest, as if trying to break free of her body and return to its rightful owner. Her stomach growled then, and he paused, looking at her earnestly.

"When did you last eat?" She actually laughed at this, consulting her watch before looking back at him.

"About eight hours ago," she stated, and he rolled his eyes. "It's been a busy couple of days."

"Yes," he agreed, his tone difficult to make out. "It has." His demeanor was different than when they'd ran into each other at the hospital last night, far less hostile yet decidedly more nervous. Before she could ask him what had brought about the change, he was guiding her back into her kitchen and motioning to the plate she'd left sitting on the counter. "Eat first," he instructed, leaning against her sink as if he belonged there. "Please."

Her stomach growled again, and he smiled, actually smiled at her in a way that made her knees practically melt. Shit. She couldn't let herself feel this way about him, not when she knew she'd have to tell him the truth about everything, about her heart, about Henry's letter, about the fact that she was alive because his Marian had died. Her fork paused halfway to her mouth, a piece of broccoli dangling just in front of her.

"I'm not sure I can," she confessed. She made herself look at him, trying to keep herself together as her heart raced ahead of them both.

"You need to, Regina," he stated. He was watching her as if he'd just met her, yet as if he'd known her his entire life. "Please. I won't be comfortable talking with you until you've put something into your body."

She popped the broccoli into her mouth, turning away from him as she chewed, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She poured herself another glass of wine and took a large sip before taking a bite of chicken.

"What if I'm not ready to talk?" she asked, avoiding his gaze for a breathless moment as she took another bite. He stared back at her, inhaling audibly as he looked down at his hands.

"I can't force you to," he said. "But I think it would do both of us a world of good. Don't you?" She swallowed the rice in her mouth, grabbing her wine to wash it down.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up as the wine added weight to her limbs. "Last night, you were so angry, as you had every right to be, but…" She paused, swallowing as best she could as her tongue and throat thickened. "I don't know if I'm up for this, Robin, for what I have to tell you."

Her fork dropped to the plate as her hands began to shake, and she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to calm nerves going haywire. He was in front of her before she realized he'd moved, taking her hands within his own, his own body trembling in time with hers.

"Regina," he whispered, and that did it, she couldn't look at him, so she closed her eyes, trying to block out what was coming even as all of who he was held on to her. "Don't be frightened."

She shook her head, breathing in and out, in and out, trying to focus, trying to swallow, trying to remain upright even though the room was spinning around her. Darkness was closing in, and she grew rigid, but his grip didn't falter. It was just there, steady, gentle yet firm, almost burning her skin even as it soothed in a manner that made her want to cry.

"You don't…" she began, trying to put her words in the right order. "You don't know, Robin. I...I…"

He withdrew his hands from hers, and she missed his touch immediately. But then he was cupping her face with one palm, tipping her chin upwards, asking her wordlessly to look at him as he held something in his other hand.

"Regina," he breathed as her gaze focused in on what she now knew was a letter. "I do know. I know it all."

It was then that it hit her,that he held Henry's letter, and she splintered apart from the inside out, shattering into a million pieces as tears spilled down her cheeks. Everything was black except for him, his face, his mouth, and she shut her eyes against him, fearing what she might find if she allowed herself to look.

"I'm sorry," she managed, her words slurring together in a sob she couldn't contain. "I'm so, so sorry."

"No," he breathed, his arms moving to her shoulders as her knees buckled. "No, Regina. You don't need to…"

"I didn't know," she interrupted, daring to open her eyes, his face a muted blur through her tears. "I swear to God, Robin, I didn't..." She collapsed into him as her last word melted in her mouth, and he held her to his chest, easing them both down onto the kitchen floor as he made soothing noises into her hair.

"I know," he whispered against her temple as his fingers stroked her scalp. "I know you didn't, sweetheart. It's alright. It's alright."

A wail broke free, and she held on to him for dear life, too lost to let go, too broken to care. She barely registered the soft kisses to her forehead, the gentle patterns his fingers drew onto her arm, the whispered words of assurance that brushed over her skin. She only knew that he was the sole warmth in a room suddenly gone frigid, and she couldn't lose him, not now, not yet, not like this.

"Henry told me," he muttered when her sobbing eased somewhat. "He found his letter in your pocket and somehow figured everything out."

She swallowed and turned to stare at him, trying to make sense of words floating haphazardly in her brain.

"Henry?" she said, blinking repeatedly.

"Yes," he stated. "Your son. He paid me a visit this afternoon to return this to me." She tried to sit upright, and he helped her maneuver until she was sitting next to him, both of their backs pressed up against the cabinets, their legs and shoulders still touching.

"He found it?" she asked, still trying to re-arranging puzzle pieces that wouldn't fit together.

"In your pants' pocket," he added, wiping his own cheek. "He was smart enough to figure out that you must have found it at my place, and he somehow enlisted Mary Margaret, August and Belle to help him get it back to me."

"Belle?" Regina questioned, obviously confused. "Belle French? The nurse?"

"Yes," he said. "Evidently she'd come by the restaurant to eat when Henry and Mary Margaret came in looking for me. I was home with Roland, so August got dragged into their plan. The next thing I know, they're all standing on my doorstep, asking if they can come in." She inhaled slowly, allowing her mind to sort through the details he was laying in front of her. "He's very brave, your Henry," Robin muttered, reaching out and taking her hand. His thumb stroked over her knuckles, strumming emotions laid bare just under her skin and making her shiver. "He told me everything, about your transplant, about how it wasn't your real birthday last week, about how he wrote that letter without you even knowing about it because…" He paused, clearing his throat as his own voice thickened. "Because of how guilty you felt," he breathed. "Because someone else's heart allowed you to live."

She swallowed hard, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

"Marian's," she managed, the name burning her tongue. She looked at him then, seeing a flash of something bruised yet beautiful as he gazed back at her.

"Yes," he whispered. "Marian's."

"You were there," she muttered, still wrapping this reality around her. "In the hospital, while I was in surgery. You were there grieving while..." She faltered, and he held her as she felt his own tears against her skin.

"While your life was being saved," he said, sniffing and wiping his face. "I know."

"You don't care?" The question hovered between them, silent yet weighted as he slowly shook his head.

"I care very much," he answered with a slight shrug. "Just not the way you think."

"What do you…"

"I'm glad it's you, Regina," he stated, his words coming out in an emotional rush. "That you're the one who got a second chance at life, that you're the one that Marian's heart saved. I'm glad..." He choked on the words, inhaling sharply beside her. "And Marian would be, too." Her head was swimming in circles.

"I'm not her, you know," she said, the words tumbling over each other as they came out. "I'm not as strong as she was, Robin. And I know you'd rather have her, I do. And I don't blame you…"

He silenced her with his mouth, pressing it up against her own, holding her face as he kissed her and stole her breath away. His lips were soft, tenderer than she remembered, and she allowed her lips to move against his, their slow dance as gentle as the brush of a butterfly's wings. She gaped at him when he drew back far enough to touch his forehead to her own, her heart standing on tiptoe as his thumb caressed her cheek.

"I don't need you to be her, Regina," he breathed. "I loved Marian with everything I had, and yes, a part of me will always miss her. That's only right." His breath was hot against her lips, his skin as warm as an electric blanket. "But I ache for you."

Their eyes met and locked, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. She could only stare at him, touch him, wonder at the mystery of what was happening, revel in the frantic fluttering of her heart against her ribs.

"What are you saying?" she asked, her words barely audible even to herself.

"That we all deserve a second chance, Regina," he uttered, his tone low and private. "And somehow, Marian has given us both one, together." His hand dropped from her cheek to her chest, pressing gently over her rib cage as she cradled his head to her shoulder. His tears dripped onto her flannel as a stray one of her own fell into his hair, and she kissed the top of his head, holding on to him with an urgency that half terrified her.

"Don't leave me again. Please." She closed her eyes as she shook her head.

"I won't," she whispered, pulling him closer as her heart thrummed against his palm. He planted a soft kiss to her chest, directly into the V-neck of her pajama top and on top of her scar. Its intimacy nearly shattered her, and she breathed him in, trembling as his breath and finger continued to stroke her rib cage. "I'm with you. Always."

"Always," he muttered, holding on to her with a calm desperation she shared that somehow promised forever.


	10. Chapter 10

Regina had no idea how long she and Robin been wrapped up together on the sofa.

To be honest, she really didn't remember moving from the kitchen floor to the living room. But somehow they had, and they were still here, snuggled into each other under a blanket, legs tangled, hearts full, all warm and water-limbed, exhausted in every way possible.

She'd cried harder than she had in years, to the point where she was certain she couldn't have any moisture left in her body. Her eyes had to be red and swollen, her cheeks a blotchy mess if the state of Robin's face bore any resemblance to her own. But it didn't matter. He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen besides Henry.

"What are you thinking?"

His voice was low, barely more than a rumble in his chest. She snuggled in closer, wrapping her arms around him, reveling in the feel of him under her cheek.

"Not much, actually," she hummed. "Too tired to think anymore."

He chuckled and hugged her closer.

"Same here," he breathed. His lips caressed her forehead, and she closed her eyes, sated and content. "It's nice just to feel for a while, isn't it?"

She chuckled.

"Now it is," she answered. "It wasn't before you came over tonight."

"No," he sighed. "You're right. Before we talked, it hurt like hell."

He was right-it had hurt like hell, had drained her of energy like a hemorrhage that wouldn't clot. She raised her head and stared at this man who'd somehow carved out a huge place for himself in her life.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I never should have-"

He cut her off with his mouth, kissing her as best as he could manage in their current position. It was awkward, but wonderful, and she slid up his body to give them both a better angle, kissing him back soundly.

"No more apologies," he muttered, drawing back just enough to speak. "I thought we agreed on that."

She sighed before kissing the tip of his nose.

"We did. I just feel terrible about running out on you when I should have-" His lips interrupted her again, this time with more force, and he maneuvered their bodies until he was on top of her, pressing her into the cushions as his lips greedily devoured hers. Her mouth opened to him, and his tongue took full advantage, plundering, sampling, making her tingle all over. God, he felt good, and he tasted like sin. "I should have...trusted you," she managed, her tone breathless as he drew back far enough to breathe before peppering kisses along her jaw. "Should have given...you a chance...to hear the truth from me."

"I believe I just did hear the truth from you," he stated, nuzzling beneath her ear before kissing the sensitive flesh there. "Quite a bit of truth, if I'm remembering correctly."

"I meant first," she said, her eyes fluttering shut as his mouth slid deliberately down her neck, finding that spot that he knew drove her insane. "Instead of…. from….Henry….Christ, Robin."

He was sucking just below her ear, not hard enough to leave a mark but insistent enough to make her inner thighs pulse.

"If you apologize again, I may take off that blasted pajama top just to get you to stop," he said, moving his mouth back to her neck, his lips hovering just over her pulse point. "Desperate times, desperate measures, you know." His finger began to draw circles over her right breast, prompting her nipple to stand to attention, pressing against the soft flannel covering it.

"Now you're just tempting me," she returned, working her hands down his back until she could cup his rear. She gave it a squeeze as best as she could through his jeans, and he groaned into her neck.

"Look who's talking," he breathed as his lips slid down the vee in her pajama top. His fingers found her nipple and gave it a firm squeeze through the material as his mouth and tongue skimmed the edge of the fabric, making her moan as heat burned hotter between her legs. She pressed up against him, his growing erection notching up the need factor another ninety degrees when it pressed against her groin.

"Robin," she whispered, feeling him tremble as she uttered his name. His breath came in short puffs as he pulled up just far enough to look her in the eye.

"How do you do that?" he breathed as his lips skimmed her cheekbone. She was burning up, and she wished he would take off her pj's, wished there was nothing between her skin and his mouth.

"What?" she managed, pulling his mouth down on hers without giving him a chance to answer. He moaned into her, turning the pulse between her thighs into an acute ache.

"Make my name sound like that," he muttered between kisses. "Sexy as hell."

She chuckled, giving his ass another squeeze as he undid her top button. She felt sexy, even with her scar on full display for him, even as he kissed it reverently, making her shiver.

"The same way you make me feel beautiful," she murmured as one hand slid under her top to cup her bare breast. "Scar and all."

His face hovered just over her heart, the heart that had once belonged to his wife.

"That scar is one of the most beautiful things about you," he breathed. "It shows you're a survivor, a woman who refused to give up on life, even when it tried to give up on her."

His thumb caressed the top of her breast as he stared into her, searing himself onto her very marrow. Shadows of tears still hovered in those blue eyes of his, but she now knew they were tears of hope as well as remembrance, remnants of both shared and separate grief that baptized this new beginning of theirs and crafted it into something sacred.

"You're a survivor, too," she said, stroking his beard, nearly melting into him as he turned his face into her touch and gently kissed her palm. He gave her a half smile before touching his nose down to hers, his breath feathering warmth across her skin.

"I am," he agreed. "A survivor who refuses to let a second chance at happiness get away from him, especially when that chance is drop dead gorgeous and kisses like a goddess."

His mouth fused onto hers again, licking, searching, tasting, and she clung to him for all she was worth, moaning when his fingers pinched her nipple.

"Maybe...that's why we fit," she managed, exhaling when he drew back just far enough to look at her. "We know what it's like to stare death in the face and walk away from it."

He nodded, his attentions to her breast becoming more soothing and thoughtful rather than arousing.

"Maybe," he uttered. "I certainly think we understand each other on a level other people can't."

"You have another theory?" she asked, sliding her fingers along his scalp, his skin warmer than usual. "Why we hit it off so quickly?"

He grinned down at her, closing his eyes, practically purring under her touch.

"Alonzo said something to me earlier," he stated, his brow creasing as he opened his eyes. His fingers moved from her breast back to her scar, and she propped herself up on her elbows, curious and a little nervous as to what Marian's father had to say about their relationship. After all, it was his daughter's heart that beat in her chest, something that had to be hard for any parent to accept. She couldn't begin to imagine how she'd feel if anything ever happened to Henry.

"What's that?" she prompted, blinking as his fingers traced the contours of her face.

"That maybe Marian's heart-your heart," he began, pausing to clear his throat. "Maybe that heart was meant to be with me forever."

Her breath caught, and she stared at him, watching a myriad of emotions play out across his face.

"Do you agree with that?" she asked, not certain of what she wanted his answer to be. It was a beautiful thought in a way, and she knew they shared an instant connection, something that couldn't be explained away with logic. But she wasn't sure she wanted Robin thinking it was all related to her having his late wife's heart.

"Not necessarily," he answered, leaning down to brush his lips over hers. "I mean, the heart, for all intents and purposes, is an organ. It pumps blood into your body. It keeps you alive. You of all people know that." She nodded, watching as he swallowed. "But, it wasn't an organ that made me fall in love with Marian," he continued, his tone now low and intimate. "It was her spirit, her personality, the essence of who she was as a human being." His gaze lasered in on hers, his focus sharp yet warm. "Nor is it what draws me to you like a starving man who can't get enough. It's your soul, Regina, your intelligence, your wit, your depth of feeling, especially when it comes to children. It's who you are that's making me fall in love with you."

She sat up taller, gazing back at him as her heart thudded in her chest.

"Falling in love with me?"

The words tripped over her tongue, fluttering out of her mouth, half-spoken, half-breathed, partly-imagined yet fully alive. He nodded, grazing his fingers over his scalp as he swallowed hard again.

"Yes," he muttered. "I'm falling in love with you, Regina Mills, body, heart and soul. I'm sorry if I'm rushing you, if you're not ready to hear it, but…"

She silenced him this time, grabbing his Henley and pulling him to her, crushing her lips to his as his arms wrapped around her waist. She poured everything she was feeling into the kiss, throwing her arms around him, wanting him closer, kissing him deeper, stroking his skin through his clothes until they both had to come up for air.

"I'm ready to hear it," she breathed, coming to the realization that she was actually tearing up again. "God, I'm like a waterworks tonight."

He caught a stray tear with his thumb and brushed it aside.

"You're not the only one," he admitted with a small shrug. "I've been a sodding mess all afternoon." He paused, feathering a kiss across her forehead, making her somewhat lightheaded. "So...the L-word doesn't frighten you this early in the game?"

She shook her head and reached out to cradle his face in her hands, amazed by her own transparency.

"I honestly feel less pathetic now for falling for you so quickly," she breathed. "Because I'm falling in love with you, too, Robin." She swallowed, trembling at the raw emotion staring back at her, her insides melting into a puddle under his gaze. "That should scare the hell out of me, but it doesn't."

He chuckled before pulling her into another kiss, one that made her tingle down to her toes. It was insane, the fact that she already cared this much, the fact that he'd gotten to her so quickly, but there was no use denying what she couldn't explain, especially when it felt so damned good.

"It doesn't scare me, either, oddly enough," he admitted. "And if you're pathetic, then I've reached a new level of desperation." He drew back a few inches and unleashed those dimples that did things to her. "Do you have any idea how I berated myself this week for needing you so badly after spending one weekend with you?"

"Actually," she whispered. "I do." He bit his lower lip, tracing seductive patterns across her collarbone.

"I called myself a first rate chump," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Couldn't get you out of my mind or my heart." Then his tone dropped, caressing her as intimately as a physical touch. "Couldn't get your taste out of my mouth."

She trembled, remembering how she'd tasted herself when he'd kissed her after making her come on his tongue.

"I kept remembering your smile," she admitted, earning herself a disarming one in return. She stroked his dimples, unable to help herself, drawn to him like the tide to a beach. "How you made me laugh, how you made me feel free...how you felt inside me." She paused, leaning in until her lips brushed his ear. "How you made me come so hard."

"Christ," he groaned, practically panting as she leisurely sucked on his earlobe. "We are pathetic."

"At least we're pathetic together," she teased, tugging him back on top of her, trembling as he undid yet another button and his mouth reclaimed hers with force. "Beats the hell out being pathetic alone."

"You can say that again," he managed, the words painting her skin as his mouth blazed a trail down her neck back to her chest. "Does that mean I can sample these tasty morsels?" He slid her pajama top to the right, bearing one breast for his perusal. "I'm feeling particularly desperate at the moment."

"Ummhhh," she replied, words lost to sensation as his mouth claimed her nipple and he began to suck. "Oh, God, Robin…"

His unoccupied hand found her other breast beneath the flannel, squeezing her left nipple while his mouth continued to make love to the other. She pushed her groin into his and rocked her hips, suddenly needing friction as badly as she needed air. He moved against her, sucking and licking with more fervor, making her want him inside her now, knowing that it was a bad idea.

"We can't.." she tried, losing her train her thought when her third button was unfastened and his mouth switched breasts. "Henry…"

"Isn't here," Robin stated, rocking against her in all the right places as his tongue toyed with her nipple. He sounded so logical, but reason warred with her libido, niggling at the fringes of arousal like a pesky fly.

"Not yet," she muttered, biting her lower lip as his fingers strayed between her legs, stroking her through loose flannel. "Shit...Robin...but he…he'll be back...anytimmmmme..."

His fingers strayed beneath her pajama bottoms, finding her panties wet and her body willing. Her legs opened of their own will, allowing his fingers to slide inside her undies and stroke her where she ached.

"I know it's not smart for us to get naked on your sofa and have sex," he muttered, his lips moving from her breast to just below her ear. "As much as I'd like to, we don't really have time. But I thought I could take care of you before your son gets home and I have to get back home to mine."

"Oh."

In the back of her mind, she remembered Roland had the flu, that August was staying with him until Robin got home, that _Zootopia_ was most certainly over by now, that they'd have to hurry before...

"God," she muttered, rocking her hips into his touch. It was all she could manage as his fingers stroked and circled, as every nerve came alive under his ministrations. A noise she didn't recognize broke free as his thumb found her clit and two fingers slid inside her, and her eyes squeezed shut as his mouth reclaimed her left nipple, zinging sharp strands of pleasure everywhere at once.

"You're already close, aren't you?" he questioned, and she nodded as he adjusted his angle slightly. Christ, she was already close, already trembling, already more than halfway there. And he kept at it, pumping in and out of her, stroking and circling until she was writhing with need.

"Shit," she exclaimed, realizing somewhere in the back of her mind that he was doing all of the work here while she was reaping all the rewards. She should reciprocate, she really should, and one hand began to toy with his fly, trying to remember exactly why they shouldn't just throw caution to the wind and fuck until they couldn't see straight right here and now. But he drew her hand away, muttering _For you, love_ into her ear and _Enjoy it_ as he picked up his pace just enough to make her curse again. Pleasure burned deep in her belly, making its delicious way over nerve endings and limbs, pulsing more acutely with each sweep of his brilliant fingers. Then her mouth dropped open as those same fingers fucked her faster, as his thumb worked magic on her clit, as his mouth relentlessly teased and nipped her breasts until her body went rigid and everything exploded, pleasure hitting her like an avalanche as she held on to him for dear life.

"Oh, God," she managed, riding wave after wave until the sensations became too acute, nearly bordering on pain until he eased his pace and kissed her open-mouthed.

"Beautiful," he murmured into her, dropping kisses across her face. "Bloody exquisite, watching you come."

He brought her down gradually, easing his pace before sliding his fingers out of her, continuing to rub her clit in slow, soothing circles as her breathing began to steady itself. She felt amazing, lying underneath him like this, satisfied, cherished and special in a way she never truly had.

"That was amazing," she panted, smiling as his mouth made its way back across her chest. "I owe you one."

"You owe me nothing," he breathed, pausing to kiss her lips. "Watching you is worth everything. But I won't put up a fight if you insist."

She laughed, bringing his mouth back to hers, feeling spent, sated and deliciously wicked. The kiss was lazy and warm, but his skin was still hot, not sweaty and cool from the aftermath of an orgasm like hers.

"You're pretty worked up, aren't you?" she asked, kissing his forehead as his face dropped to her chest.

"May need a cold shower when I get home," he admitted with a sigh. "But this was definitely worth it."

He leaned in for another kiss, his palm cupping one of her breasts and giving it a soft squeeze as she wrapped her legs around his middle.

"Are you trying to make me come in my jeans?" he muttered, nuzzling his nose into her ear, making her giggle. "Because if you keep rubbing against me like that, it's a very real possibility."

"Probably not a good idea," she agreed, lowering her hips, missing his solid presence between her legs immediately. "It's not really fair that it's so much messier for you than it is for me."

"No," he agreed, lowering himself enough to kiss the tip of her nose, something she was beginning to realize they were both fond of doing. "It's not. But I really don't want to face August with an inconvenient stain right where it counts. He'd never let me live it down."

"It would make for awkward poker conversation," she mused, earning herself a frustrated groan.

"Christ," he sighed. "August is bad enough. If Frankie and John got a hold of information like that, it would be unbearable. I'd have to leave town." He paused, kissing her forehead, moaning as she grazed her lips across his neck. "And I don't know that I could ever look Alonzo in the eye again...God, woman...you are trying to kill me, aren't you?"

She laughed, unable to keep from kissing him again, especially when his mouth was right there, that mouth she knew could do incredible things to multiple places on her body. He was irresistible, she couldn't help herself. It was then the realization struck her that she wanted to kiss this man for the rest of her life.

High beeps sounded, slicing into their lust-induced fog. Shit-Henry was home, and she was lying here practically topless under a very worked up Robin. Regina shoved him off, sitting up and trying to button her pajama top as Henry, Mary Margaret and David walked inside, letting in a blast of cold air that made her shiver.

"Hey, Mom," Henry said, making Regina wish that they weren't sitting in a direct line of sight from the front door. "Hey, Robin. Good to see you again."

Robin stood, tucking his Henley into his jeans, trying to give her some cover as she fiddled awkwardly with her buttons and ran frantic fingers through her hair. Thank God he was wearing jeans and not sweats. He'd be sporting an obvious boner in any other pants.

"Hello, Henry," Robin returned, his voice a few notches higher than usual. He cleared his throat as Regina stood, and she watched David turn three shades of red as Mary Margaret's eyes grew wide.

"Umm, we were just going to grab some clothes for Henry," Mary Margaret stated, her voice even more cheerful than usual. "He asked if he could stay over with us tonight."

"He did?" David asked, hunching over when his wife elbowed him in the ribs.

"Yeah," Henry chimed in. "It's been too long since I spent the night at their place, and it sounded like fun."

"You stayed at their house last weekend," Regina said, crossing her arms over her chest self consciously. She hoped the erect state of her nipples wasn't visible through the flannel.

"I did?" Henry asked, catching Mary Margaret's eye as she sent him an obvious look. "I mean, yeah, I did. But...we, uh, we never finished that jigsaw puzzle we were working on, and I really want to."

"Jigsaw puzzle?" Regina echoed. "You didn't mention anything about a jigsaw puzzle. What is it?"

"Hogwarts," Henry blurted out, just as Mary Margaret said, "Cinderella's Castle." Henry cleared his throat meaningfully, tossing his godmother a look before stepping towards Regina. "Hogwarts Castle. Sometimes, it looks so much like Cinderella's, Aunt Mary Margaret can't tell the difference."

Mary Margaret nodded with gusto, prompting Regina to roll her eyes.

"Really?" Regina asked, staring at Mary Margaret in disbelief. "I don't remember them being that similar."

"They really are," the other woman answered, rubbing her expanding belly as she shot Regina a disarming smile. "Besides, I have pregnancy brain these days. I confuse things all the time-right, David?"

"Um, right," David chimed in, right on cue. "In fact, she's confusing me right now."

Mary Margaret shot her husband a look that could slice tomatoes.

"So can I go, Mom?"

Regina eyeballed her son, her cheeks heating at the realization that Henry was all too aware of just what sort of activities she and Robin had been engaged in before he walked in the door.

"Yes," she said, wishing her neck didn't feel so hot. "You can go. If it's really okay with David and Mary Margaret, that is."

"It's fine," Mary Margaret returned before her husband could get a word in edgewise. "In fact, David was just saying how much fun it would be if we all slept in tomorrow morning and took Henry out for waffles around ten or eleven. Weren't you, David?"

David swallowed, forcing a smile as he nodded.

"Yeah," he echoed, trying to look convincing. "Waffles. At ten or eleven. With Henry. Tomorrow morning."

"You know how I love waffles, mom," Henry added, moving right up to her. "And I haven't had them in forever."

God, she hoped she didn't smell like sex. She was certain Robin's fingers did and breathed a sigh of relief when he slid them into his front pocket.

"Go pack," she instructed, feeling Robin's other arm slide around her waist as her son bounced up the stairs two at a time.

"I'm going to run to the restroom," Robin stated, tossing a tight smile towards the Nolans before giving Regina's waist a squeeze. "If you'll excuse me."

"Sure," David piped in as Robin turned and ducked around a corner. "And I'll just go...and...uh...start the car. You know, keep it warm." He was back outside in a split second, practically tripping over his own feet before Regina could even say good-bye.

"Oh my gosh, Regina!" Mary Margaret whispered excitedly after her husband shut the front door. "Things are obviously going pretty well for you and Robin." Mary Margaret was beaming as she practically sprinted towards her friend. "But you might want to fix your top...before Henry comes back downstairs."

"My top?" Regina muttered, turning three shades of red when she noticed that she'd inadvertently skipped a button, the result being a gaping hole too close to her right breast for comfort. No wonder David had dashed out of her townhouse like a scared rabbit. She'd nearly given everyone a show. "Shit," she breathed, righting her buttons, trying to avoid looking at Mary Margaret.

"It's okay," her friend said. "I'm glad to see you having such a good time." She dropped her tone to a whisper. "Did you two actually, uh, you know…"

"No!" Regina exclaimed, wincing at how loud her own voice was. "We did not have sex on my couch."

Mary Margaret eyed her disbelievingly.

"But you came close, didn't you," the younger woman prodded before tossing Regina a wicked grin. "Or maybe you just came…"

"That's enough," Regina hissed, stepping back from Mary Margaret as Robin re-entered the room, rubbing his freshly washed hands together.

"You did, didn't you!" Mary Margaret whispered, an expression of supreme triumph on her face before she turned an innocent looking smile on Robin. "How is Roland feeling?"

"Still not good, I'm afraid," he answered, casting a regretful look in Regina's direction. "Which is why I should get going. I know August is perfectly capable of taking care of him, but…"

"But he's not a pediatrician," Mary Margaret cut in. "Like Regina. How wise of you to take her along with you to make sure Roland is okay."

Regina's mouth fell open, her lips moving even as no words came out.

"I-I don't want to impose on Regina," Robin managed, looking as confused as Regina felt. "I mean, I know she's a brilliant physician, but she's had an exhausting rotation at the hospital, and I don't expect her to make house calls."

"If it's your house, I'm sure she won't mind," Mary Margaret stated. "Although it really is cold outside. You might want to pack your own bag, Regina. Just in case you decide to stay over so you don't have to brave the weather again."

Mary Margaret's gaze honed in on Regina, her eyes narrowing to emphasize her point. Regina didn't know if she found this entire situation more embarrassing or ridiculous.

"You're certainly welcome to stay," Robin added, feigning a shrug. "I mean, if the weather's bad..." She arched a brow in his direction, noting that he was having a difficult time keeping a straight face. "And Roland would certainly love to see you, although he's likely to be asleep when we get there."

"So you have to stay over, Mom," Henry chimed in from the stairs, his duffle slung over his shoulder. "For Roland's sake."

"For Roland's sake," she echoed, feeling her neck prickle in embarrassment. It was one thing for Mary Margaret to encourage her to spend the night with Robin, but she wasn't sure how she felt about Henry realizing that his mother finally had a sex life.

"Yes," Robin agreed. "For Roland's sake." He tossed her a bemused look, half sheepish, half amused. "If it's alright with you, that is."

She sighed, eyeing him before turning her attention to Henry.

"I wouldn't mind checking in on him," she admitted. "The flu is nasty this year."

"So I've heard," Mary Margaret said before looking directly at Robin. "She's always helping people, you know. Can never say no to a child in need."

Robin nodded, his upper lip twitching as he tried to remain serious. He was enjoying this obvious charade, she realized. Smug bastard.

"But I'll stay here if you'd rather sleep in your own bed tonight, Henry," she stated, needing her son to know that he was still her priority, regardless of the state of her libido. The boy gazed at her, shaking his head as if she'd just suggested they go swimming in the snow.

"Bye, Mom," Henry returned, walking over to her and giving her a big hug, filling her nose with the scent of buttered popcorn. "Have fun. Just don't stay up too late, okay. You need some sleep."

"Yes, sir," she replied, giving him a big squeeze, trying her best not to sound mortified. "Did you remember to pack your toothbrush?"

"I keep one at their house," Henry answered, pointing back at Mary Margaret as he pulled back and looked at her earnestly. "But don't forget yours. Maybe Robin will let you leave one at his place. It's really convenient, you know."

She cleared her throat, feeling Robin's half-contained chuckle beside her. The urge to elbow him was growing stronger by the second.

"I won't forget my toothbrush," she promised as Henry and Mary Margaret made their way towards the door. "And I love you!"

"Love you, too," Henry answered before pulling the door shut behind him, leaving her momentarily speechless and somewhat stunned.

"You think they suspect anything?" Robin deadpanned, unable to contain his laughter any longer when she shot him a steely look. "I'm sorry, love," he continued, trying to catch his breath. "But Henry suggesting you leave a toothbrush at my place..."

"Is somewhat mortifying," she interrupted, giving his shoulder a whack. "He knows, Robin! He's not even a teenager, and he knows his mother is about to spend the night with a man who just made her come on the couch."

"He knows I made you come on the couch?" he questioned.

"No," she corrected, rubbing her forehead. "At least, I don't think so. But Mary Margaret does."

"Mary Margaret is a grown woman," he stated. "I think she can handle the fact that you just had a well-deserved orgasm."

"That still doesn't mean I want her to know you had your hand down my pants just before she walked in," she exclaimed, rubbing her temples as he drew her into his arms.

"At least our pants were on," he observed. "Could have been much worse if I'd done what I really wanted to do to you."

She shivered in spite of herself, warming up in places she hadn't realized had cooled off.

"And what's that, exactly?" she breathed, inhaling sharply as his hands moved lower and began to trace circles on her ass.

"Come home with me, and I'll show you," he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at her suggestively. She snickered, and he grinned, leaning in to kiss her lightly before drawing back. "I do need to get home and check on Roland, and I know you have to be exhausted, so if you'd rather stay here and sleep in your own bed, I understa…"

She silenced him this time, attacking his mouth with force, taking him completely off guard for a split second before he opened his mouth and responded in kind.

"Should I pack my waffle iron?" she hummed as she drew back and began peppering kisses along his scruff. "Waffles for brunch sound pretty amazing, actually."

"Have one," he managed before giving her derriere a gentle squeeze. "As long as you don't mind Mickey Mouse shaped waffles." He shrugged as she stared back at him, his ears turning a muted shade of red. "Gift from Marco when Roland turned three."

She grinned, amazed at how the simple fact that this man owned a Mickey Mouse Waffle Iron made him even sexier.

"Even better," she whispered, giving his lips one last peck before drawing back and moving towards the stairs. "Now let's grab my toothbrush and get out of here."

* * *

 

"So things must have gone well tonight," August mused, crossing his arms as he and Robin watched Regina check Roland's temperature. His son had crawled into her lap and snuggled into her chest the moment she sat down on his sofa, something that had tugged on Robin's heart with the strength of a semi.

"What?" Robin muttered, unable to draw his eyes away from the scene playing out before him as Regina said something to Roland before stroking his curls. Christ, they looked so natural together it was somewhat staggering. The two men stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the family room, granting them a small measure of privacy even as it allowed them to see the dark-headed pair now snuggled up together on the couch.

"Regina," August repeated. "The fact that she's here with you makes me think the two of you worked things out, especially since she brought an overnight bag."

He nodded towards the small case Regina had set down by the front door the moment Roland had spotted her and stood to his feet, reaching his arms out to her in a silent plea to be held. She'd responded immediately, going to his son and scooping him up in her arms before sitting down with him where they still sat.

"Oh, yes," Robin replied, swallowing hard. "Things are good between us-very good."

"Thank God," August said, rubbing his fingers over his scalp. "I'm glad to hear it, and Belle will be, too. I take it you two managed to talk things out."

"We did," Robin answered as Roland nodded at something Regina said. "It wasn't an easy conversation for either of us, but…"

He paused, watching his son burrow further into Regina's chest as she kissed the top of his head. She looked like Roland's mother, he realized, and his heart swelled painfully as she rocked the boy back and forth before easing both of their bodies back into the cushions.

"It was worth it?" August put in, clearing his throat when Robin didn't answer.

"What?" Robin muttered, shaking his head. "Oh-yes, yes. Definitely worth it." He blinked, smiling softly to himself. "Worth everything, actually."

August smiled, gazing at Roland and Regina before turning back to his cousin.

"She's it, isn't she?" August asked, catching him off guard. "Your second chance at love, I mean."

His chest constricted, and he cast a glance at his wedding photo hanging on the wall just behind the sofa on which his son and new love interest sat. Marian smiled back at him, looking radiant, watching over their little boy as she gave Robin her final stamp of approval. He stifled a sob as warmth exploded inside him, filling him with a peace and certainty that made him believe absolutely anything was possible.

"Yes," Robin replied, doing his best to swallow down a fresh wave of emotion. "She is. And I'm one lucky bastard."

August smiled as he clapped him on the shoulder before leaning in and giving him a hug.

"Yes, you are," the other man agreed, patting Robin's back. "But you deserve it, and it's exactly what Marian would have wanted-for you and for Roland." He drew back then and wiped his cheek. "She'd want you to fall in love again with someone who would love that little boy as much as she did."

August's tears surprised him, and he clasped his arm, so thankful for this man whom he loved like a brother.

"Thank you," he stated, inhaling sharply.

"For?" August asked, rubbing his face in an attempt to get his emotions under control.

"For everything," Robin answered. "Accepting Regina, helping Henry get us to talk, watching Roland so I could go and straighten things out tonight."

The other man nodded before reaching for his leather jacket he'd lain on the back of a chair and sliding it onto his body.

"My pleasure," August stated, casting another glance into the family room. "Truly. I'm rooting for you guys, you know. All four of you. Henry's a great kid who's never had a dad, and Roland...well, he seems completely taken with Regina."

He glanced at the two dark heads pressed together in the next room, blinking back tears that hit him with force.

"He is," Robin confirmed, swallowing hard. "And she's wonderful with him, you know-has the touch of a mother." He paused, shifting the spotlight onto his cousin. "Speaking of kids, Belle has a son, doesn't she?"

August's eyes narrowed as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.

"She does," he answered. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Robin shrugged, chuckling at the disbelieving look August shot him. "It's just that single mothers are extraordinary creatures," he continued, taking a step towards the other man. "They deserve special care and an extra dose of respect."

"I agree," August stated, sliding on his gloves. "One hundred percent. Do you have a point, Robin?"

"Just that you're great with kids," Robin added, grinning as the other man's face turned a soft shade of pink. "Especially little boys. Roland's given you plenty of practice."

"You're about as subtle as a bull, you know," August mused, pulling his car keys out of his pocket.

"You mean as subtle as Mary Margaret," Robin said, making August chuckle and murmur _True_. "In all seriousness, though, if you like Belle, you should ask her out. Don't waste time on wondering whether or not she's interested. Just do it. Time is precious."

August held up his cell phone, tossing Robin a half-smile.

"I've asked her if she'd have dinner with me this weekend," he confessed, eliciting a smile from Robin. "She gave me her number so we could work out details with our work schedules and line up childcare for Gideon."

"Good man," Robin said. "I hope it goes well. Regina says that Belle's a good woman."

August walked to the front door, pausing as he put his hand on the doorknob.

"Belle says the same thing about Regina," he stated with a smile. "And Robin-enjoy yourself tonight." He then walked out the door and into light flurries of snow that danced in the chilled wind like frozen fireflies. They were mesmerizing, and Robin found himself staring at them for a moment, regardless of the cold creeping under his Henley and making him shiver. They seemed magical, somehow, as if they were sent here to mark this day as significant, one he'd treasure and celebrate for years to come, one that had changed the course of his future. He waved as August drove away, watching his breath take shape and float away as the snow sparkled under the street lights, and he half-imagined that it caressed Marian's cheek in whatever realm she now dwelled.

"I still miss you, Babe," he whispered, crossing his arms to ward off the chill. "But I'm ready to start living again. Wish me luck."

The wind picked up just then, stroking his neck and forehead, tickling his cheek, and he smiled into the darkness, feeling his past and present merge in a way that left him breathless. August was right. Regina was it for him.

He stepped back into his townhouse, remembering that the night air couldn't be good for Roland or comfortable for Regina, so he shut and locked the door behind him, leaning against it a moment until he caught Regina's eye. She smiled softly, inclining her head towards Roland who now slept in her arms. Christ, she was a vision like this-her hair curling rebelliously, her face devoid of makeup, wearing an oversized Boston University sweatshirt and gray leggings that made him want to slide next to her on the sofa and wrap her up in his arms.

He walked into the family room and looked down at his boy.

"How is he?" he whispered, unable to keep himself from tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

"Still has a fever," she stated. "But it's gone down somewhat. I expect it will break soon."

He touched Roland's forehead, smiling as his son nuzzled in closer to Regina.

"Why don't I carry him up to bed?" he suggested, sliding his arms under the child's lax form. He brought Roland up to his chest and made his way to the staircase, taking them carefully as Regina followed them holding a well-loved stuffed Curious George.

"Where's Gina?" Roland muttered groggily as Robin deposited him onto his mattress, the boy's eyes now at half-mast. "She's soft."

He smiled, thinking to himself how Roland's family was made up of men, how his son had no memory of Marian, how being held by Regina was the closest thing he'd come to experiencing a mother's touch. He swallowed hard as a new wave of emotion pushed up his throat.

"I'm here, sweetheart," she answered, moving towards his bedside and depositing a kiss on his cheek. Robin tugged Roland's comforter up to his chest as Regina placed George into the boy's arms. "Now you get some sleep so you can start to feel better, okay?"

She caressed his cheek the way Marian had when Roland was a baby, the way he was certain she still stroked Henry's when she tucked him in at night.

"'Kay," Roland breathed, his eyes sealing shut as his face stretched into a yawn. "Just don't...leave…"

She blinked rapidly, and Robin slid his arm around her, loving how she stood and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as if it belonged there.

"I won't," she whispered, inhaling as Robin kissed the top of her head. "I promise. Not this time."

His heart swelled, and he kissed the tip of her nose, loving the way she nuzzled into his cheek and neck.

"I'm glad," he breathed, encircling her with his arms as they both looked down on his sleeping son. "I'm looking forward to waking up with you tomorrow."

"Mmmm," she hummed, wrapping her arms around his middle. "Me, too."

Something inside of him melted then and there.

They walked out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, holding on to each other as they went back downstairs and headed straight to the kitchen.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, and she nodded as she fought off a yawn.

"Starving," she admitted. "I didn't get to finish dinner. Too distracted for some reason."

"I can't imagine why," he grinned as he went to the refrigerator and took out the container of Alonzo's chicken and gnocchi soup, holding it up for her approval before setting it down on the counter and dipping some out into two bowls.

"Like hell you can't," she returned as he popped her bowl inside the microwave and set the timer.

He chuckled as she moved in behind him and slid her arms around his waist.

"I quite enjoyed distracting you, I must say," he said. "In fact, I'd like to distract you again, if you'll let me."

She kissed his back through his shirt.

"Not until I've eaten," she muttered before letting go and stepping back. "But after that, knock yourself out."

He grinned as he took her bowl out of the microwave and set it on the counter before placing his inside, watching a wide yawn overtake her face.

"As delightful as that sounds, I may need to wait," he observed. "Until after you've gotten a good night's sleep."

She laughed.

"It wouldn't do for me to fall asleep while being distracted," she mused, taking the spoon he held out in her direction.

"My ego might never recover," he agreed.

"It's not your ego I'm concerned with at the moment," she said, arching one brow in his direction as her gaze skimmed downward. His inner thighs tingled, the thoughts of being inside her ramping up a libido that should probably remain on pause for the time being.

"Trust me," he countered. "Little ego doesn't function well if big ego is mortified." She snort-laughed with a mouthful of soup, and he chuckled, knowing he was good and well lost to this woman and perfectly fine with that fact.

They ate side by side at his table, unable to keep from touching as they ate the soup, washing it down with a full-bodied zinfandel.

"I still can't believe this is real," she confessed as he refilled her wine glass. "Us. Here. Together. I just never thought I'd have this."

He took her hand within his a stroked her knuckles with his thumb.

"Neither did I," he admitted with a shrug. "But some surprises are good ones."

She kissed him full on the mouth.

He made love to her slowly, treasuring every sigh he coaxed out of her, memorizing the contours of her face as he pleasured her with his fingers, enjoying the heady buzz of sex, wine and woman that left him panting and hard. Coherent thought deserted him the moment he entered her body as sensation took over and pushed them both to the brink, and he lost himself inside of her just after she broke apart around him, whispering names and muttering curses, claiming each other body and soul. They rode out the swells together, unwilling to let go even when neither of them had the energy to move any more.

"Now I know I smell like sex," she breathed, and he chuckled, finally allowing himself to roll off of her and pull out, immediately missing the intimacy of being inside her.

"You and me both," he said, standing and moving to the bathroom to grab a hand towel. He sat back down on the bed and wiped between her legs, mesmerized again by the perfection of her nudity. "Do you want to take a shower?"

"In the morning," she replied. "Right now I just need to go to the bathroom and get some sleep."

"Fair enough," he smiled, helping her up before giving her ass a soft squeeze.

She donned one of his t-shirts along with her sleep shorts as he tugged on a pair of boxers, both of them cognizant of the fact that Roland could walk in on them at any point during the night. As happy as Roland was that Regina was here with them, Robin didn't relish the thought of answering questions about why the two of them were sleeping together naked, especially not when his son's innocent remarks all too often got overheard by Frankie, August and John.

"Your bed's really comfortable," she muttered as she shifted to lie on her side and fluff a pillow below her neck just the way she liked it.

"I'm glad to hear it," he returned, sliding in behind her and spooning her to his chest. "I'm hoping I can convince you to spend a good amount of time in it." She smiled and hummed her approval as he stroked her outer thigh, her eyes already drifting shut, her breathing already steadying itself.

"Sounds...like….a plan…" she muttered, the words barely audible through her yawn. He smiled as he watched her fall asleep, thinking how much his life had changed in just over a week's time, knowing that as crazy as all of this was, he was more than willing to go along for the ride.

"Goodnight, Regina," he whispered, his arms now as full as his heart as he allowed sleep's persistence to gently tug him into oblivion.

They woke up alone, no Roland in sight, still wrapped around each other and warm from sleep. They indulged in silent snuggling as sunlight tried to sneak in through closed blinds, small strokes and soft kisses that gradually lured them out of bed and into the shower where touches turned more fervent and need went wild. He found himself wishing that his shower was bigger, that his ass didn't keep hitting the shower door when his thrusts became harder, but then he didn't care as her mouth slid over wet skin, as her teeth nipped his shoulder, as her walls fluttered around him and they both fought to keep quiet, as he nearly collapsed against the shower wall, trapping her between him and it, unable to keep from smiling as she touched his face and grinned.

"I'm going to be sore tomorrow," she said. "My body's not used to this much sex."

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, reaching behind him to turn off the water.

"God, no," she returned, biting her lower lip before he leaned in for a soft kiss. "But I might want to pick up a good lubricant."

"I don't mind doing that if you want me to," he offered, nudging the shower door open and handing her a towel. "And please tell me if anything I do makes you uncomfortable. I don't want you to feel anything but pleasure when we make love."

She raised up on her toes and kissed him before towelling off her hair and wrapping it around herself.

"Trust me," she assured him. "Sex with you feels amazing. And let me take care of the lube-I can get freebies from pharmacy reps."

"I see," he said. "So we can sample all of them to find out which ones work best. For research purposes, of course."

"Of course," she stated, tugging on the towel he'd secured around his waist. "Research is very important."

He kissed her again, moaning into her mouth as her tongue tangled with his, feeling the need to touch her even though his penis was soft and spent.

"I'm tempted to eat you out right now," he hummed, trailing his lips down the side of her neck. "As gorgeous as you are." She shivered and clasped on to him tight.

"What about Roland?" she breathed, unfazed as her towel hit the floor. "Won't he be awake soon?"

"Probably," he muttered, tracing a thumb over one nipple, entranced by her broken sigh. "But I can be quick."

He felt her grin as she took his hands in her own and kissed the tip of his nose.

"Can I take a rain check?" she asked. "I'm sort of starving at the moment, and I'm still tingling from the shower."

His lips feathered across hers as he cupped her breast.

"Whatever you want," he answered, raising his brows in her direction. "Gives me something to look forward to."

A small knock on the bedroom door caught their attention, and Robin tugged on his boxers before stepping out of and shutting the door to the master bathroom, giving Regina some privacy. He then opened his bedroom door, finding a groggy Roland standing on the other side, his hair sticking up in at least five different directions, his Curious George clasped snugly to his body. Robin walked to him and picked him up, cherishing the feel of his son snuggling into his body, all heavy and warm from sleep.

Warm...but not hot.

"How are you feeling?" Robin asked, sitting on the bed as he felt Roland's forehead, sighing in relief at the cool, clammy skin that greeted his touch.

"Hungry. And thirsty," Roland whispered, and Robin smiled. Roland had barely eaten for the past two days.

"So am I," Regina added as she stepped into the bedroom, clad in her sleep shorts and one of Robin's hoodies. It nearly swallowed her, but God, she looked perfect, damp curls and all. She touched Roland's cheeks and nodded, casting Robin a smile he couldn't mistake.

"That fever has finally broken," she stated, sitting down beside Robin and rubbing Roland on the back. "It may come back as the day progresses, so I'd get some food into his system while he's hungry. The flu is a roller coaster, but this is a good sign that he's finally on the road to recovery."

"Sounds like a plan," Robin said, kissing his son's mussed curls. "What would you like for breakfast, Roland? What sounds good to you?"

The boy leaned back and rubbed sleep from his eyes before tossing a shy grin at Regina.

"Pancakes," he answered, burrowing his face into his father's chest.

"I love pancakes," Regina said, toying with Roland's curls. "Especially blueberry ones."

"Chocolate chip," Roland returned, crinkling his eyebrows.

"That's Henry's favorite, too," Regina stated. "At our house, we make the batter plain so we can toss in whatever we want."

"That's what Daddy does," Roland said, sitting up taller. "He lets me put in my own chocolate chips."

"Within reason," Robin added with a raise of his brows. "If this one had his way, he'd use an entire bag for one breakfast."

Roland giggled, and Robin's shoulders eased as the stress from having a sick child began to work it's way out of his body.

"Henry tried to make Skittles pancakes when he was about your age," Regina said, chuckling as Roland's mouth dropped open. "It didn't turn out well-trust me."

"That's just silly," Roland giggled. "You can't make Skittles pancakes!"

"No," Regina agreed with a smile. "You can't."

Robin stood, still holding his son, and the three of them made their way downstairs to the kitchen where he deposited Roland onto one of the counters.

"You want me to make coffee?" Regina asked, and he nodded, pointing her towards the coffee maker and his stash of beans behind it. "Ohhh-Kona blend. You like the good stuff, I see."

He grinned as he raided his pantry for flour, salt, and sugar.

"Only the best for me," he returned, tossing her a meaningful glance. "You should know that by now."

She blushed and bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to press her into the refrigerator and kiss her senseless.

"Uncle Frank says Daddy's a coffee snob," Roland stated. "Whatever that means."

"Yeah, well, Uncle Frank says a lot of stuff," Robin returned. "Stuff you don't necessarily need to hear."

"You mean like when he said you needed a good fu-?"

"Exactly,!" Robin interrupted, practically shoving a cup of apple juice into his son's hands. "That's exactly what I mean."

"Whatever that is, it must be pretty awful," Roland returned, taking a sip of his juice. "'Cause Nonno chased him out of the kitchen when he said it."

He heard Regina snicker and turned to see her fighting back a laugh.

"I would have chased him out of the kitchen, too," Regina said. "Frank needs to control his tongue."

"Among other things," Robin stated.

He skimmed his tongue over his lips in her direction when Roland wasn't watching, and her eyes flashed back at him knowingly before she resumed her task of making coffee. The smell of fresh brew overtook his senses as he measured out dry ingredients and began to assemble the wet ones.

"Here," Regina whispered, nudging a mug into his hands. "You take cream only, right?"

"Good memory," he grinned.

"Not hard to remember when I take mine the same way," she stated, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. The fact that she wore no bra under his hoodie was starting to mess with both his brain and lower anatomy, so he silently instructed his cock to stand down. Just then, the doorbell rang, and they both shot confused looks towards the front door.

"You expecting anyone?" she asked.

"No," he returned, casting a glance towards the clock. Who the hell was stopping by at eight thirty-two a.m.? He made his way to the door and peered out the peephole, shaking his head in confusion as he opened the front door.

"So sorry to disturb you," Marco stated, sliding past Robin, bearing a large tray. "We just wanted to bring you some breakfast so you and Regina could enjoy your morning."

Alonzo waltzed in behind his brother, carrying a basket of what Robin assumed by the smell were blueberry muffins.

"Good morning!" he heard Marco exclaim as the older man entered the kitchen, and he turned to follow, nearly shutting the door in August's face.

"I'm only the transportation," August muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I told them this was a bad idea, but you know how stubborn those two can be."

Robin swallowed down his embarrassment as he motioned August inside, glad he'd thought to put on a t-shirt with his boxers, at least, and wondering just how Regina was faring.

"Is there anyone else?" he asked, looking past his cousin before shutting the front door. "I mean, I'd hate to be rude if you all sent out invitations."

"Just us," August assured him. "Pop must have gotten up at six a.m. this morning to start cooking for the two of you. He and Alonzo hatched this scheme last night, evidently. I think they were as excited over the prospect of Regina spending the night with you as you were."

Robin rubbed the back of his neck, hoping that Regina wouldn't run out the front door screaming at this unexpected invasion. He found her pouring a cup of coffee for Alonzo, her eyes widening in Robin's direction for a split second before relaxing back into a smile that was charming the socks off his father-in-law.

"Forgive us," Alonzo began, taking a sip of his coffee and nodding his approval. "We only meant to give you all some extra free time this morning. Plus it's Roland's favorite breakfast casserole. I thought it might help him feel better."

"I do feel better, Nonno," Roland said, taking another sip of his juice. "Gina says my fever broke."

"That's good news!" Marco chimed in, giving his great nephew a squeeze. Roland hugged him back, nearly sloshing apple juice all over Marco's coat in the process. "We won't stay, though. We wouldn't want to intrude on anything important."

"Like breakfast?" Roland asked, happily biting into a blueberry muffin.

"Like dessert," August stated, raising his hands over his head when Robin whacked him soundly on the arm.

"Silly!" Roland giggled. "You don't get dessert until after supper."

"Nonetheless, we should be going," Alonzo said, turning to give Regina a quick kiss on the cheek. "We're so glad you and Robin got to talk things out, you know," the older man added. "We just needed you to know that we approve."

Regina inhaled sharply, blinking back tears as she sniffed and wiped her cheek. Alonzo deposited his mug on the counter and drew her in for a hug.

"My Marian would like you," Alonzo whispered, drawing Regina in close. "She'd be happy that her heart beats on inside of you." She drew back far enough to look the older man in the eyes.

"Thank you," Regina managed, nodding as Alonzo released her and clapped his hands together.

"Marco-we should go now," the older man stated, just as a loud knock was heard on the front door.

"You expecting anyone?" August asked, earning himself a death glare from Robin.

"I wasn't expecting you," Robin returned before making his way to the door yet again. He shook his head in amazement, opening the door to an obviously chilly but smiling Mary Margaret, David and Henry.

"Sorry," Mary Margaret stated before he could even say hello. "We ended up going out for breakfast earlier than we'd planned, so we thought we'd bring you two some waffles and bacon."

Henry extended two to-go boxes in Robin's direction, making him sigh as he motioned them inside, hearing a new commotion rise up from his kitchen. He made his way back, watching as introductions were made and hugs were given, as more coffee and juice were poured and napkins were produced. Regina crept over to him, handing him his coffee before taking a sip of hers.

"Do you want to invite anyone else?" she quipped. "I think we have room for a few more before we violate the fire code."

"I'll post an invitation on Facebook," he returned. "Then alert the local media." She chuckled, and he grinned, shaking his head as a makeshift breakfast buffet was created on his small dining room table over the din of excited conversation. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I had no idea…"

She leaned over and kissed him, silencing him as soundly as he had her last night.

"No apologies, okay?" she said, cupping his face with one hand, holding her coffee with the other. "After all, my family is a part of the invasion force, too."

He grinned and sighed as he examined his kitchen, filled to absolute capacity with the people who now made up the fabric of his life.

"What are you gonna do?' he mused, sliding one arm around her waist as they observed their sons laughing together, as Marco, Alonzo and David exchanged stories, as Mary Margaret clapped her hands excitedly when August confided that he'd asked Belle out on a date. This was good, he realized in the midst of his exasperation, the fact that they had people in their lives who loved them so much, people who were cheering them on as they entered a new phase of living, people who'd held onto them when they'd broken apart and had helped piece them back together one day at a time. He was one lucky man, and his chest swelled when he kissed the top of her still damp curls, breathing in the scent of his shampoo in her hair, loving how that simple gesture made him feel ten feet tall.

"I don't know about you," she began, tossing him a sly glance he'd like to eat before grabbing up a fork. "But I'm going to grab a waffle before they disappear." She then made her way through the small crowd, sending him a come-hither look as she popped a piece of muffin into her mouth, marking him as her own for the rest of eternity.

"So am I," he muttered to himself, vowing then and there that he would grab life with Regina by the horns and live every second of it to its fullest without one single regret.


	11. Chapter 11

Christ, her feet hurt.

Regina had followed Mary Margaret from _Babies R Us_ to _Buy Buy Baby,_ from _Victoria's Secret_ for some post-pregnancy lingerie, now that the new mom had been given the green light for having sex again, to _Barnes and Noble_ for what supposedly was supposed to be an "in and out" errand. Said errand had morphed into a prolonged search for a children's book that was ironically out of print, followed by coffee in the bookstore's cafe and an impromptu nap for Baby Neal. Her friend had more energy than most new mothers, Regina mused, especially those who'd undergone an emergency C-Section only weeks prior, and she was glad to see Mary Margaret acting more like herself again. She just wished her feet weren't paying the price for her friend's unexpected burst of energy. She took another sip of her Flat White as she snuggled her godson to her chest and rubbed his back, relishing his soft weight and his sweet baby scent as his head rested on her shoulder.

"Alright," Mary Margaret stated, checking her watch as she returned from the restroom and took a final sip of her Frappuccino. "I think we should probably head home now."

"Thank God," Regina muttered, kissing Neal's downy head as she stood. Her knees popped as her lower back protested, making her curse the questionable logic of wearing heels this afternoon. Snazzing up a little on a Saturday after wearing sensible shoes to work all week had been an appealing option this morning.

She should have known better. She'd agreed to go shopping with Mary Margaret, after all.

"Haven't you had fun?" the younger woman questioned, tugging the diaper bag over her shoulder as they made their way towards the exit.

"A laugh a minute," Regina returned, squinting as they stepped outside and sunlight struck her squarely in the face. Her sunglasses were buried in her purse and nigh on impossible to reach with a three-month-old snuggled into her chest. She shielded Neal's eyes with her hand until Mary Margaret opened the car door, allowing her to lay the infant in his car seat and fasten him in securely. "I thought you said we'd be gone an hour or two when you called this morning, not half the damn day."

"Language," Mary Margaret chided.

"He's eleven weeks old," Regina said, clicking her own seat belt into place. "Besides, I've heard you say worse."

"His brain is developing at a rapid rate," Mary Margaret returned. "And I don't want it filled with profanity at such a crucial stage."

"Then keep him away from his godfather," Regina shot back. "Killian would be a gold medalist if profanity were an Olympic sport."

"He's doing better," Mary Margaret argued. "Dating that social worker Emma has mellowed him out somewhat."

"He's about as mellow as a crocodile," Regina said, earning herself an eye roll from her companion. "Are you late for something?"

Mary Margaret's eyebrows shot up.

"No," she answered. "Not at all. Why would you think that?"

"Because you keep checking your watch," Regina stated as they pulled out of the parking lot. "You've been doing that all day, actually. Are you trying to put Neal on a new schedule?"

"Something like that," Mary Margaret said with a smile. "He's sleeping better at night since we started supplementing my breast milk with formula, so we're adjusting his naptimes to help him sleep through the night."

"Something I suggested you do weeks ago," Regina reminded her. "May I remind you that I'm actually a pediatrician and know a bit more about a child's health and development than those lactation blogs you follow."

"I know, I know," Mary Margaret confessed. "And I should have listened to you instead of being so stubborn. He actually slept through the night last night for the first time."

"Who? David or Neal?"

Mary Margaret snort laughed, making Regina chuckle, and they were lulled into a comfortable silence by the sweet melody of Mozart's Cello Sonata in D Major wafting out of the car stereo speakers. The new mother's insistence on playing classical music to support Neal's cognitive development was something Regina actually enjoyed and vastly preferred to her friend's standby collection of Barry Manilow and Air Supply CDs. She paused and looked over her shoulder to check on Baby Neal, his now chubby cheeks still slack in slumber.

"Anyway, the extra sleep seems to be doing wonders for you. Your energy level has skyrocketed."

"It's helped a lot," Mary Margaret agreed, casting her eyes to the clock on her dashboard. "Regina, do you mind if we run through a drive-thru? I'm really thirsty."

"Are you kidding?" Regina asked. "We just had Starbucks."

"I need water," Mary Margaret stated. "I'm starting to get a headache."

"We're only ten minutes from my place," Regina stated. "Can't you wait that long? You can't be dehydrated already, nursing mom or not." She sighed as her friend turned into the _McDonald's_ parking lot and got into the longer of the two car lines. "Did you and David have a fight?"

"Of course not," Mary Margaret replied, eyeballing Regina suspiciously. "Why would you ask that?"

"You just don't seem to be in any hurry to get home," Regina answered. "Especially after we spent twenty minutes in the _Victoria's Secret_ fitting room so you could find something red and skimpy to knock his socks off."

"I'm just enjoying time out of the house," Mary Margaret said. "It's been awhile since I've been able to do this. Besides, you and I haven't had much girl time over the past few months, you know."

This was true enough. Between Mary Margaret being placed on bed rest the last six weeks of her pregnancy, Henry breaking his arm while trying to steal third base, Roland having to get glasses, Neal being a colicky baby, Regina being appointed as head of pediatrics and her increasingly serious relationship with Robin, life had kept them from seeing much of each other over an unseasonably hot summer. She hoped fall would grant them all some much needed down time to catch their breath and reconnect.

"I know," Regina admitted. "And I'm sorry I haven't been able help out more with Neal. Some godmother I've been."

"You're an amazing godmother," Mary Margaret assured her as she pulled up to place her order. "Don't ever doubt that, okay? Do you want anything?"

"From _McDonald's_?" Regina questioned, scrunching her nose. "No thank you."

"Your loss," Mary Margaret quipped as she proceeded to order a bottle of water and a side of fries.

They traveled home via a roundabout way, Mary Margaret muttering something about avoiding construction traffic Regina knew nothing about as she cranked up the air conditioning yet another notch.

"Still hot natured, I take it?" Regina observed as they finally pulled to the curb in front of her townhouse and parked. Mary Margaret glanced around the neighborhood, absently uttering Yeah before exhaling audibly.

"Don't forget your shopping bags," the younger woman reminded Regina.

"Bag," Regina corrected, holding up her solitary purchase from _Victoria's Secret,_ a sheer royal blue negligee she'd purchased with a certain blue-eyed restaurateur in mind. "I have one. You're the one with a commercial armada packed into your trunk."

"Babies require supplies," Mary Margaret stated. "And diapers take up a lot of room."

"I know," Regina returned as she stepped out of Mary Margaret's Accord. "I have a son, remember? Just don't let that red teddy get lost among all the Huggies." She tossed her friend a wink before shutting the car door and waving, wishing she were brave enough to tug off her shoes here and now rather than waiting until she walked through her front door.

God-putting her feet up sounded like heaven.

The smell of something wonderful struck her as she walked up her front steps, a smell that made her mouth water and her stomach nearly cave in on itself. She hadn't put anything into the crock pot this morning, and she turned, looking to see if Robin's _Outback_ was parked anywhere nearby. It wasn't. He was supposed to have taken Henry and Roland to the Boston College football game this afternoon, and she couldn't imagine that it would be over already, which left her with a problem.

If Robin wasn't here, who the hell was cooking in her house?

She opened the door and stepped inside with caution, stunned into momentary silence by the sights and smells that greeted her. Her house looked like a scene straight out of a Hallmark movie, accentuated by the swoon-worthy aromas of Alonzo's Eggplant Parmesan, Marco's garlic bread and something decadent, chocolate and most-decidedly to-die-for. August and Alonzo stood side-by-side by the stove wearing professional-grade aprons, nodding their greeting as she strolled through her kitchen into the family and dining room area.

Her curtains had been drawn, the main lights dimmed, jar candles and strands of white lights strung haphazardly about now her sole sources of light. Her dining room table was decked out to the nines, covered by a black tablecloth, accented by white napkins and a bouquet of multi-colored zinnias mixed with sprigs of lavender tastefully arranged in a mason jar. She recognized her good china laid out perfectly, a set she'd purchased for herself after her engagement ended years ago, and she strolled towards her pint-sized maître d', a slicked-back, suit-clad, grinning-his-face-off Henry, who stood perfectly erect with a white cloth slung over his left arm.

Her son had never looked more handsome.

"Welcome to the Locksley-Mills Trattoria," Henry stated with a bow. "Your reservation is ready, madame."

Her heart pounded in her temples, her throat now bone dry as Roland strolled to the table and pulled out a seat for her. The curly-headed wonder decked out in a tux was probably the cutest sight she'd ever seen, and she scoped the room, looking for his father, suddenly very aware of what she believed was happening here.

Robin was going to propose. She knew it as clearly as if he'd just popped the question.

But he was nowhere to be seen, not yet anyway, which was probably a good thing seeing that she wasn't sure if she'd be able to form a coherent sentence in her present state. This had to be why Mary Margaret had kept her occupied all afternoon, so Robin and his band of merry men could turn her home into an Italian restaurant that somehow reminded her of the spaghetti scene in Lady and the Tramp.

Dean Martin quietly crooned _That's Amore_ as she let Henry guide her to the table, smiling at Roland's toothy grin as she nodded her thanks and sat down. Roland's over-sized script labeled her place card in bold red marker, and she felt the beginnings of tears form as the boy unfolded her napkin with a flourish and placed it in her lap.

"Would you like some water?" Henry asked as he set down a glass he'd filled to the brim. She took a sip immediately, afraid that if any of them even slightly jarred the table there would be a mess to clean up before the evening had even begun.

"Thank you," she managed, clearing her throat. "This is just what I needed."

"We have wine, too," Roland added. "But Uncle August wouldn't let us pour it for you. He said if we spilled it on your outfit that you'd be really piss…"

"That's enough, Roland."

His voice ran over her senses like warm molasses, making her insides feel sweet and sappy all over. He was behind her, the scent of his Bvlgari Pour Homme Soir making her shiver, his proximity making every nerve ending stand at high alert.

"Good evening, love."

He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to her neck, one she moaned into, one that made her legs feel like jelly and her toes curl in her shoes. She turned to look up at him, blown away by how delectable he looked in the dark blue suit he'd donned for the evening. He was gorgeous, this man of hers, all dimples and silver streaks, scruff and toned arms.

"Robin," she murmured, smiling as he sat in the seat across from hers. He took her hand in his own, kissing her knuckles, discreetly nipping one finger the way he knew that she liked. "So where have you been hiding?"

"In the bathroom," he returned with a grin. "I had actually just gotten changed when I heard you come in."

"Good timing," she mused, casting another appreciative look at his attire. "I should probably go change myself. I feel under-dressed compared to you."

"No need. You look perfect," he hummed, her skin vibrating under his words. "You always look perfect, especially when you're undressed."

She rolled her eyes at his play on words.

"I don't think that would be appropriate for the occasion, seeing that we have an audience."

Roland giggled from the kitchen, earning himself an exaggerated _shhhhh_ from Henry.

"Shame," he returned, planting a soft kiss on the top of her hand. "I should have requested a private table." She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She just sat there, looking into blue eyes that were staring at her as if she were the Crown Jewels and they a pair of renegade thieves preparing to seize her on the spot.

"Shall I pour you some wine?"

Marco had stealthily made his way to their table and stood there watching them with a ridiculous grin on his face. He held a bottle of her favorite Malbec towards them for their perusal, popping it open with a corkscrew he'd hidden in his inner suit pocket with a flourish. Her heart sped around the room in twenty directions at once, and she sucked in air, feeling warm in some places and chilled in others. She watched Robin as the older man poured the wine, pressing this moment into memory, her gaze honing in on the bare ring finger on her lover's left hand.

Oh, God. This was it. He was really going to propose tonight. She swallowed, picking up her wine glass as she attempted to steady her breathing.

"To us," he said, raising his glass in her direction. His voice wrapped around her intimately, like broken-in leather caressing bare skin.

"To us," she echoed, taking a sip, closing her eyes as warmth slid down her throat and blossomed in her belly. Her chest ached, her head felt heavy, and she took another sip of wine, hoping it would help settle her racing heart, feeling her cheeks overheat instead. Roland chose that moment to lay a basket of bread sticks on the table, giggling again as he walked away and Henry set down a plate of caprese.

"This is nice," she managed, shivering in spite of the warmth when he licked his lips.

"It is," Robin replied, setting down his wine glass. "Pretty perfect, if you ask me."

She smiled at this, picking up a bread stick, hearing her stomach beg loudly enough for all of Boston to hear as the aroma tickled her nose.

"Our best dates always seem to start with your stomach making noises," he teased, reaching out to take a bread stick for himself. She paused mid-bite before chewing, swallowing and taking a drink of water.

"Then it's a good thing you own a restaurant," she shot back. His chuckle made her feel giddy, girlish and lightheaded, and she reminded herself to breathe, to focus, to pay attention to details she'd want to recall later.

"I agree," he hummed. "Seeing as I might never have met you if I didn't. And that would be a tragedy, indeed."

He looked into her, past every defense and barrier, stroking the silken threads of who she was, declaring volumes of adoration without uttering a word. His hand found hers again, and he stroked her fingers with his thumb, paying particular attention to her left ring finger as her breath hitched in her throat. She nearly jumped out of her seat.

Yes. There was definitely going to be a proposal tonight.

She was ready for this, she was certain of it. She loved Robin Locksley with the intensity of a category five tornado, a love so strong she'd once held it in reserve for Henry alone. But Robin and Roland had changed that, had shown her that love shared is love expanded, had helped her feel at home in her own body again, whether that body was out bowling with her favorite boys, washing dishes at the restaurant or wrapping itself around a spent, sweaty naked man who'd just pleasured her beyond reason. Her boys had helped her feel at peace with the heart that beat steadily in her chest, had assisted her in letting go of the last strands of guilt that had kept her from living the life Marian's heart had granted her to its fullest.

She would hold back no longer. No-she would seize this proposal with both hands, would set a date for a small, family wedding as soon as reasonably possible, and would ride her fiancé into the mattress tonight once their boys had gone to sleep.

"God, you're gorgeous."

The words crept up her arms and over her nipples before heading south to tickle her nether regions.

"You're not so bad yourself," she breathed, closing her eyes as he continued to stroke her fingers with his thumb. "And I have to admit, I'm pretty impressed by this set-up."

He gave the room a once-over, nodding his approval.

"As am I," he agreed. "Our boys clean up pretty well, don't they?"

She chuckled under her breath and nodded before taking another bite of bread, its hot, buttery deliciousness only adding to the night's perfection. Did he have the ring in his pocket, she wondered, or was he perhaps planning to have it served up on a plate in front of her at some point during the meal? What sort of ring had he chosen, anyway? Round? Oval? Marquis? Traditional or modern design? Gold, silver or platinum?

Henry and Roland chose that moment to deliver salads, small plates of arugula, spinach, walnuts and pears accented by a vinaigrette of some sort that was profound in its simplicity. Christ, she loved how well Robin's family could cook. She'd have to step up her time on the treadmill once they actually tied the knot.

"This is delicious," she remarked, gesturing towards the salad. Robin nodded as he took a sip of water.

"One of August's specialties," Robin stated. "His own recipe, in fact, one he developed after completing that cooking class in Tuscany a couple of months ago. He's actually as good a cook as Marco and Alonzo and could open his own restaurant if he ever chose to do so. Just don't tell the two of them that I said so."

She grinned before taking another bite of her salad.

"It's lovely being around men who can cook so well," she said, taking a sip of wine to steady her nerves. "I could get used to this."

He bit his lower lip, shooting sparks of desire everywhere at once.

"I hope you do," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "Because I could get used to a lifetime with you."

Oh, shit. This was it, she thought, nearly tipping over her wine glass as she sat up straighter.

"Could you?" she managed, wondering if her pulse was actually audible.

"Oh, yes," he returned, leaning forward and reaching for her hand across the table. "I most certainly could. Could you?"

She swallowed, nearly choking on her own saliva, and grabbed her water glass to try to stop coughing. Robin quickly stood and walked behind her, rubbing her back until she could breathe freely again.

"I'm okay," she managed, taking another gulp of water. "You didn't have to get up."

"Self-preservation," he retorted. "I was afraid you'd spit water on me."

Water then flew out of her nose as she tried to stifle a laugh, spewing over her beautiful salad, much to her chagrin.

"Don't worry, bella," Marco called from the kitchen. "I'll get you another."

The clank and clatter of dishes danced with the slowing rhythm of her coughs and their ebbing laughter as Robin continued to stroke her back until her breathing steadied.

"There you go," Marco announced as he set down a fresh plate of salad. "Good as new. Now, why don't the two of you continue where you left off, eh?"

She felt Robin's fingers still against her spine just before he leaned down and dropped a kiss onto her temple.

"I believe that requires privacy, Marco," Robin replied.

The older man tossed them an exaggerated wink before tiptoeing back to the kitchen and crying out, "You don't see me. I'm not even here."

Robin moved back to his chair as she adjusted her napkin and checked her dress for water damage, dabbing at the few spots she found.

"Damn it," she whispered as she finally gave up and took another sip of wine. "I certainly know how to kill the mood, don't I?"

He was grinning at her like the proverbial Cheshire Cat, gazing at her with a mix of humor and tenderness that wrapped her securely in its coils upon contact.

"You're nothing if not moody," he returned. "But I wouldn't have you any other way."

Her heart sped up again as her internal temperature ramped up another ten degrees. Shit, she was sweating, a decidedly unromantic aesthetic just before the love of her life was about to pop the question.

Or was he? Was she absolutely certain that was going to happen tonight?

Perhaps she was reading this all wrong-the in-house restaurant, the tux-clad boys, the melodious crooning of Diana Krall in the background as he continued to stare at her as if she could do no wrong. Perhaps this was just a date, and she was setting herself up for one hell of a letdown. Christ, she needed to know, needed to ground her expectations in what was definite rather than what was desired, so she worked up her courage, trying to find the words she needed that would either hurry this proposal along or let her know that an engagement wasn't in the cards tonight.

She heard him swallow and inhaled, breathing out through her mouth as she dove in head first.

"Robin-"

"Regina-"

They spoke simultaneously, chuckling in time with each other.

"I just wanted-"

"I was wondering-"

They paused again, mouths open, eyes curious and confused.

"Please," Robin said. "Go ahead."

"No," Regina returned, shaking her head. "You first. I insist."

He cleared his throat and took a sip of water, his actions prompting her to sit taller as anticipation tickled her skin. His exhale tugged her forward, towards him, towards a future, towards the family she'd always wanted and finally had.

"I was just going to tell you that I'm very impressed with what you've put together tonight," he began, gesturing around the room to emphasize his point. "This took some serious time and effort, and I'm beyond honored that you went to all this trouble for me."

Wait. What?

"Excuse me?" she whispered, certain she hadn't heard him correctly.

"Thank you," he grinned, reaching out to stroke her arm. "For this. For being willing to take a chance on this oaf of a restaurateur and for bringing light back into my soul and life." She breathed in and out, thinking yes-she had misheard what he'd said earlier, or perhaps he'd just misspoken. After all, if he was about to propose, he was bound to be nervous. But then he took a sip of water and said the last thing she expected to hear.

"Whatever else you have planned for the evening, I want you to know that I'm absolutely game."

Her insides froze as her mind ran three steps ahead of her, realizing that she hadn't misunderstood what he'd said moments before.

"What I put together?" she repeated, staring at him in utter confusion. "Robin, I didn't do this. I thought you did." His mouth fell open, and he blinked repeatedly. "Didn't you have Mary Margaret occupy me all afternoon so you could set this up?"

"No," he answered, looking just as baffled by her revelation as she was by his. "Frank kept me busy all day working on a never-ending list of minor repairs to the restaurant. Then he told me you'd called and that it was time for me to pick up Roland at your place, so I showered and came right over, although he insisted that I park around back for some reason."

"Pick up Roland?" Regina repeated. "I thought you took the boys to the football game this afternoon."

"What football game?" Robin asked, looking genuinely perplexed. "I was under the impression that you'd taken them out to the movies. At least, that's what your text said." He proceeded to take out his cell phone and pull up the text message in question to show her.

"I didn't send that," she said, wondering what in God's name was going on here as she stared at a text she didn't write. "But I did get one from you asking if Henry could join you and Roland for today's game." She paused, taking another drink of wine, wondering just how she'd emptied her glass so quickly as her evening spun out of control around her. "I thought you were…"

She stopped, biting her lower lip before her heart toppled out of her mouth and onto the table between them, mortification tasting bitter on her tongue.

"What?" he questioned, leaning forward to take her hand. "What did you think, Regina?"

She inhaled sharply, fighting dueling urges to cry and crawl under the table.

"Nothing," she lied, trying her best to swallow. "I was being stupid, and…"

"You're not stupid, sweetheart."

"You don't know that, Robin!"

"I do know that, Regina, you're one of the smartest people…"

"I'm being ridiculous tonight-Shit! I'm sorry. I need to shut up before I ruin-"

"Did you think I was going to propose?"

Her breath caught in her throat, the room spiraling around her like an off-balance crazy house. Dizziness seized her as he spoke what she'd tried so desperately to hide, and her lungs constricted, making breathing next to impossible.

"Because it's alright if you did," he continued, his voice taking on the texture of honey as he began to stroke her fingers as he'd been doing earlier. "I actually thought you were about to ask me."

Her eyes rounded, her mouth gaping open as words played hard to get.

"You did?" she asked, feeling decidedly hot all over. "You thought I was going to propose?"

"I did," he replied, stroking her ring finger purposefully. "I mean, it's the logical conclusion when you take in all of the factors, don't you think?" He paused, watching her closely until she nodded slowly. "The in-house restaurant, being kept out all day...I can see why you would have thought the same thing."

"You can?"

The words fluttered off of her tongue, weightless yet full of feeling.

"I can," he assured her. He stared into her again, licking his lips as his voice dropped half an octave. "And if you had proposed, I would have said yes, you know."

Her heart stopped as everything around her blurred into oblivion except for the man across from her.

"You would have?" she questioned, her heart pounding relentlessly in her temples.

"Yes," he returned, his voice as intimate as a caress. "I would."

Her ribs expanded, her heart nearly exploding out of her chest as the reality of what he'd just said began to sink in.

"So would I," she whispered as a tear broke free and trickled down her cheek. He reached out to wipe it away with his thumb, his smile so broad she felt embraced by it. "I would have said yes, too."

He swallowed down emotion she could sense from across the table as he blinked back tears of his own.

"So if you would and I would," he began. "Then why don't we?"

She gaped at him, trying to speak, wanting to nod, attempting to do anything besides sit in dumb confusion as she was currently doing. She cleared her throat, moving her lips in silence before her tongue finally caught up.

"Why don't we?" she echoed, melting from head to toe at the broad smile that covered his face. "Robin-is this…?"

"It is if you want it to be," he interrupted, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. "If you're ready to make this forever. Are you, Regina?"

Oh, God. Forever. Yes-yes, she was definitely ready for a forever with this man and their boys. She was nodding as an array of tears fell down her cheeks, smiling as the word Yes danced up from her heart and tickled her tongue, ready to leap towards the man she loved just before a whisper out of nowhere cut her off.

"Do it, Dad! Do it!" Decidedly boyish giggles then erupted from the direction of the couch.

"Shhhhh!" an older voice cut in, one she recognized instantly as Henry's. "Don't ruin it!"

"I'm not ruining anything," Roland whispered back, pausing as he seemed to realize that he'd been overheard by the adults. "Uh oh."

She held back a laugh, nearly choking on it as Robin stifled a chuckle. He cleared his throat yet again, entwining her fingers with his own.

"Do you think that perhaps we've been set up?" he mused, his eyes wandering from her to the sofa behind which their sons were obviously attempting to hide.

"I think the possibility is very strong," she answered, doing her best to stifle another laugh as Roland whispered _We're busted_. "You might as well come out," Regina added, leaning back in her seat. "We know you're there, boys."

"I told you to be quiet," Henry hissed just before two heads peered out from behind the top of the couch.

"I was being quiet!" Roland insisted as they puttered out from behind their fortress, their heads hanging low, their faces as obvious as a neon sign. "I only whispered, Henry."

Henry rolled his eyes at the younger boy's logic, daring to look at his mom for a second before dropping his eyes to his shoes.

"So boys," Robin began, leaning back in his seat and studying them. "Are you two responsible for putting this dinner together tonight?"

Henry and Roland looked at each other before each of them nodded slowly, refusing to make eye contact with either of their parents.

"And were you also responsible for sending misleading texts both to me and to Regina to keep us busy and away from her house today?"

Roland sighed heavily as they nodded again, only to be interrupted by August who'd strolled into the room from the kitchen.

"Henry texted you," the other man said. "But I sent the one to Regina about the football game. I didn't quite trust Roland's spelling skills."

"Football is hard to spell," Roland admitted with a shrug. "So is stadium."

Regina's lips trembled as she fought down a smile, reaching for her wine glass before she remembered that it was empty.

"I see," Robin murmured, raising a brow towards his cousin. "And was this your idea, August, or did you send that text at Roland's request?"

"He didn't have to twist my arm or anything," August admitted with a shrug. "But it wasn't my idea."

Robin's eyes locked with Regina's, the spark of amusement that was obvious to her somehow lost on their boys who looked as if they were about to attend their own funeral.

"And why did you think it necessary to mislead us as you did?" Robin continued. "Couldn't you have just asked us if you wanted us to attend such an elegant evening? "

The boys couldn't look guiltier if they tried, and they stared at each other before turning their gazes back to their parents. Henry looked like a convicted felon, Roland like a whipped puppy.

"We didn't mean to lie," Henry said, swallowing hard. "We actually wanted to do something nice for you two, something special."

"This is very nice," Robin agreed. "But why all the secrecy?"

Roland huffed as loudly as the big, bad wolf, squaring his shoulders as he decided to bite the bullet.

"Because we wanted you to propose."

Regina's eyebrows shot up as the smile lines creased further around Robin's eyes.

"You wanted me to propose to Regina?" he asked, leaning forward towards his son.

"Yeah," Roland admitted. "Or for her to propose to you. It didn't matter-just as long as you two got engaged."

She inhaled sharply, wishing for another glass of wine with all she had.

"You want us to get married?" she questioned, her eyes moving from Roland to Henry. Her son finally lifted his gaze to her own, and he grinned, making her heart leap into her throat as he nodded.

"We do," Henry replied, looking from his mom to Robin then back again. "We want to be a real family, official and all."

Her cheeks were wet, and she dabbed at them with her napkin.

"You, too, Roland?" Robin asked, smiling as the younger boy nodded back.

"I don't remember my mom," Roland admitted as he took a step towards the table, those baby browns of his melting her heart like warm wax. "And Henry's never had a dad."

"So it works out well for all of us if you two get married," Henry cut in, moving in closer. "Roland gets a mom…"

"Henry gets a dad, I get a brother," Roland jumped in, walking right up to the table, feeling bolder by the second. "And you two can stop worrying about who's staying over where at night and stuff."

Her heart was thudding again, two words amidst many drumming out a steady tattoo in her chest.

"You want me to be your mom?" she asked, staring at Roland as he beamed back at her, dimples and all.

"Yeah!" Roland answered, practically hopping into her lap. "You're great at being a mom, and we even kind of look alike. I think we'd make a great team-don't you?"

"Yes," she answered, the word tumbling out of her like a petal caught up in a waterfall. "I think we make a great team."

She laughed as tears fell freely, and she kissed curls that had been gelled and combed as small arms wrapped themselves around her neck. But Robin sat dumbstruck, finally standing up and moving towards Henry.

"You'd really like me to be your dad?"

The words were whispered and rough around the edges, tinged with emotion so deep she felt it from where she sat. Henry looked up at him before staring at her, silently seeking her permission, receiving it with a smile.

"I would," Henry said, turning his focus back to Robin. "If you wouldn't mind having me as a son."

Robin turned towards her, his eyes wet, his expression one of awe.

"Mind?" he repeated, shaking his head. "Of course I wouldn't mind. I'd be honored to be your dad, Henry. If it's okay with your mother, that is."

All three males looked directly at her at once, and she felt the stares of Alonzo, Marco and August watching them in expectation.

"It is," she said, smiling so broadly her cheeks began to ache. "You're right, Henry. Robin is a great dad."

"So does that mean you'll marry us?" Roland asked, hopping off her lap in excitement. "Please, Regina. Marry me and my dad!" Henry was nodding in her direction, trying his best to coax her along.

"I will," she answered, cutting her gaze to the man still standing beside her son. "If your dad asks me, that is."

Henry inclined his head towards Regina, gesturing Robin in her direction as Roland jumped up and down before grabbing Robin's hand and practically pulling him down to the floor.

"You're supposed to kneel down, Dad," the boy insisted. "Jeesh! Don't you know anything about proposing?"

Robin bit his lower lip to contain his amusement as Henry pushed the man closer to her from behind. He scooted toward her on the carpet and took her hand within his own, looking up at her with those blue eyes of his that never ceased to make her knees go weak.

"Regina Mills," Robin began, stroking her ring finger as he held her gaze. "I don't lead the most orderly of lives, as you well know. My house tends to be messy, and my family is always in our business." He paused, tossing a glance towards the kitchen where Alonzo and Marco waved him on as Roland whispered, "Get on with it, Dad!"

"But it's my life, and it's one I want to share with the most amazing, intelligent, compassionate and gorgeous woman I know," he continued, aiming his eyes in her direction and hitting the bullseye. "I love you, Regina. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Her insides burst into an array of fireworks, making everything tingle at the same time.

"I will," she answered, cut off from any further words by a pair of insistent lips upon her own. She tugged him closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her fingers into his hair, chuckling into his mouth as applause broke out around them and Roland uttered _Ewwwww_. They drew back from each other, all touching noses and damp cheeks, reluctant to let go until Henry interrupted.

"Now's when you give her the ring."

She sat back at that, shaking her head.

"Robin doesn't have a ring yet," she explained, watching Henry's brow crease in confusion. "Because he wasn't planning on proposing tonight. This was your doing-remember?"

"Regina," Robin said, "I-"

"It's alright," she cut in. "I don't expect one right now, and there's no rush. Having a ring doesn't make us any more or less engaged."

Her finger felt barer than it ever had, oddly enough, but Robin would remedy that soon enough.

"Can we go ring shopping with you?" Roland asked. "I want to make sure you get Gina a good ring, Dad, one that shines and sparkles and costs a lot of money. That's what Uncle Frank says women want."

"You discussed engagement rings with Uncle Frank?" Robin asked. "Dare I ask what else he had to say on the subject?"

"Only that it's' all about the rock," Roland said. "That you'd better give her at least a carat or you won't be getting any for a while, whatever that means."

"You asked," Regina stated as Robin grimaced and rubbed a hand over his beard, chuckling as Frank's voice cried out _Thanks a lot, Roland_! from the back of the house. They stared in that direction, shaking their heads in amusement as Frank, Mary Margaret, David holding Baby Neal and Belle toting Gideon slowly came into view.

"Why am I not surprised?" Robin questioned, looking back at her with blatant adoration. "We can't do anything without an audience, it would seem."

"I hope to God there are some things you do without an audience," Frank tossed back, getting a sound whack from Mary Margaret on the arm.

"You know, maybe I should have consulted with you, Frank, before I purchased this," Robin continued, turning his full attention back on Regina. "Seeing as you're the expert, according to Roland, but I'm hoping Regina likes it, whether you had a hand in picking it out or not."

One hand reached into his pocket as the other held her left hand before releasing it to open a small box, one that held a simple yet elegant ring that took her breath away. It was an oval set in a platinum band, with two small rubies on either side of it, neither pretentious nor too understated, just absolutely perfect.

"Oh my God," she breathed, watching in fascination as he slid it onto her finger. "Robin! When did you... how did…"

"I bought it a month ago," he admitted. "Had it stashed in my bedroom, waiting for just the right time to ask you. Somehow…" he paused, tossing a pointed glance towards the kitchen. "The box ended up in my suit pocket tonight, the suit I'm assuming August picked out and had delivered here for me to change into this evening."

August shrugged good-naturedly, grinning from ear to ear as Belle moved to his side and Gideon flew into his arms from his mother's.

"I actually wondered if Roland had found it and tipped you off when I first got here and saw the setup," Robin continued. "If perhaps you'd arranged for it to be in my pocket so the stage would be set."

"You mean when you thought I was planning to propose?" she questioned. "Oh my God, do you really think I'm that devious?"

"I'm counting on it," he hummed, kissing the top of her hand. "I had this ring designed for you, Regina," he continued, his tone now soft and private. "The rubies-they represent our hearts, you know. Two hearts brought together by the most unusual of circumstances, still managing to create something beautiful out of years of pain."

Words deserted her again as she stared at the ring, holding her hand up so it caught the light and sparkled, feeling her heart reach out to the man to which it had always belonged.

"It's perfect," she breathed, cupping the sides of his face as she swallowed. "And I love you. So very much."

He leaned in and gently kissed her pulse point, her eyes closing upon contact as one of his hands dropped to her rib cage just over where the heart that had once been Marian's pulsed steady and strong.

"I love you, too," he muttered. "With all of my heart."

She laughed just before he kissed her again, startled when he practically fell into her as Roland and Henry tackle-hugged him from behind. She leaned back abruptly, touching her lip, fairly certain it had been cut as she picked up her napkin at dabbed at it.

"Are you bleeding?" he asked, reaching out to her as he tried to unsuccessfully shake off the boys.

"Barely," she answered. "You?"

He grinned, shaking his head.

"No. And my nose made it out unscathed, as well."

She cackled, remembering how she'd practically broken his nose the night they'd met, feeling that somehow a split lip was actually a good sign on this crazy road they'd been travelling. Everyone gathered around them then, wine glasses in hand as Marco topped off hers and Robin's, and they rose to their feet, moving into a circle of family she'd craved all her life. She had a son, a son-in-waiting, a fiancé, a father-in-law to be, friends, cousins...God, life had been good to her, and she was more thankful than ever for the scar on her chest, feeling it tingle as Robin's arm slid around her waist and drew her close.

"To us," Robin said, raising his class in her direction before extending it towards everyone else. "And to family."

"To Regina and Robin," Alonzo echoed as everyone raised their glass. "And family."

They drank, and she took it all in, laughing as Marco confessed they actually had trays of lasagna for everyone just in case the night turned into an engagement party, feeling loved and fully accepted as each member of Robin's family and her own hugged her in turn and offered their congratulations.

"God, I'm surrounded by men," she mused later as Robin fed her a bite of chocolate cake topped with dark chocolate ganache, so delightfully decadent it made her moan. He chuckled, gazing around the room at Alonzo and Marco, at August and Frank, at Henry, Roland, David, Neal and Gideon and nodded his agreement.

"Face it," he whispered, stroking the side of her face. "You're outnumbered, and there's nothing you can do about it."

She chuckled as she chased down chocolate with wine, leaning into him fully as they sat on the sofa while others danced and chatted.

"I wouldn't be so sure," she grinned, taking a deep breath. "After all, we could always adopt a little girl."

He paused then, eyeballing her before smiling from ear to ear and placing a soft kiss to her temple.

"That we could," he returned. "And I'm certainly game." He then claimed her mouth fully, sealing the deal and their lives together before she could get another word in edgewise.


End file.
